Paint it Black
by green.pepsi.cola
Summary: At 17, 3-year-old hurricane, Jezebel, is dropped at Skip's door. Growing up, she spends most of her time with Jay; that is, until the punk scene hits. Swept in alongside Peggy, the young surfer-at-heart tries to balance her worlds: skating with the boy who's basically her brother, surfing alongside her bestie, & navigating many pitfalls of the teenage world. Ch 8 complete.
1. An Arrival & the Birth of a Tomboy

(Disc.: Don't own LoD. I don't own Blackbird, either.)

( **A/N** : So this takes place around '76 and doesn't follow real-life timelines/movie timelines, meaning it's not historically accurate. If things seem out-of-order from what you're used to, that's why. Let's say it exists in a parallel universe. I did not want to rehash the movie events, as that's been done, but plot points may appear. See other notes at end for additional info.)

" _Blackbird fly, blackbird fly; into the light of the dark, black night.  
_ _Blackbird fly, blackbird fly; into the light of the dark, black night.  
_ _Blackbird singing in the dead of night; take these broken wings and learn to fly,  
_ _All your life."_

- _Blackbird_ , the Beatles

 _Chapter 1: An Arrival and the Birth of a Tomboy_

" _Skip_ – _Jezebel Lola. Bella_ – _daddy. Take care of her. Bella, be good for daddy, and I'll be back soon to take you home."_

 _The plump, stout brunette thrust the squirming three-year-old into her father's un-expecting arms, and he struggled to keep a hold of the restless body, the owner of whom was screaming defiantly and swatting at his face with both her small, chubby hands._

" _C'mon kid, cut it out…" a young version of Skip not out of his teens mumbled, shifting the child lower on his hip and trying to hug the fight out of her._

That was her mother. Between then and now, she'd never seen her again. Skip Engblom didn't have the slightest notion about raising a little girl, barely older than a child himself; that was how she'd met Philaine and Jay Adams. She was at their apartment all the time; she could remember the first time she'd gone. It was that exact day, the very first–he couldn't even handle the first day alone with her. She remembered it so clearly….

" _Lane, can you take care-a her for me? Name's Jezebel." Skip held an ever-squirming, angry little girl by the hand. Philaine agreed._

 _The girl's frizzy, curly, blonde hair stuck out in all directions, and she was dressed in a flowered blue romper she hated. She'd been a precocious child to Skip's luck, and was out of diapers by eighteen months old. The blue leather sandals strapped to her feet slapped the pavement repeatedly as she desperately attempted to run back down the steep stairs of the apartment complex._

" _Suuure, Skip," Philaine answered in her breezy, California-hippie-mom way, taking her hand and gently ushering her through the door._

" _I'll… come back fer 'er in, like, two days, Phil, you're a lifesaver – thanks."_

Jezebel remembered an older kid sitting on the living room floor, about three inches from the television screen playing Saturday morning cartoons. He twitched his fingers lightly on his knee, absorbed in the screen; bright colours flashed across it, capturing her attention, and she vividly remembered glancing from the TV to the boy, torn between her two options momentarily before deciding to charge forward and tackle him.

" _Ow, ma! Get 'er off!" The blond boy shouted as he lay on his side like a slug, face pushed into the carpet, and Philaine nonchalantly wandered over to peel the younger child's fingers from his shoulder where she'd been shoving it repeatedly into the floor._

" _Jayboy, this's Jez, or you can call her Bella. We need to take care of her, together. You treat her like your sister. You don't ever hurt her, okay Jay baby?" His mother implored, patting him on the head as he sat up, freed from the toddler's grip._

* * *

He left her at the Adams' house for fourteen days. 'Fourteen days, before the idiot finally came back for me', she thought.

It was the first of many two-week periods she would stay, give or take any number of days. To his credit, he was relatively young–her mother had gotten pregnant shortly after her sixteenth birthday, and fourteen-year-old Skip had been the unlucky partner in her escapades. She was gone within four months, and she hadn't contacted him before that day. He had never even seen her as an infant.

* * *

" _Where yew go?" The toddler asked in her tiny voice when her father returned to collect her two weeks later._

" _I was in Hawaii baby, I'll take you sometime. I won a surf contest," was all he offered as he collected her from the Adams' apartment, now dressed in Jay's old t-shirt and jeans Philaine had pulled from a box of baby clothes in a forgotten closet._

 _She wordlessly handed him the box of clothes, as well, then added, "Skip… get this wahine some real clothes, 'k? She hates these snap-up…thingies she was wearing when ya dropped her off."_

* * *

That was her birth as a tomboy.

Another time, when Jay was seven and she was just about to turn six, he came home from the elementary school with Tony and Stacy, two boys she'd met many times before. All three were on brightly-colored skateboards. The other two were eight or nine, and she was pretty sure Stacy, ever the meek one, was mildly afraid of her frequently-flying fists which he'd witnessed her use against Jay on multiple occasions. At this point, they were nothing more than cheap, plastic, toy boards, but she really wanted to try them. She ran outside and down the steps excitedly to meet them, eager to use those weird boards–however you were supposed to use them.

* * *

" _I wanna try," She protested in her stubborn, nearly-six-year-old voice._

" _No Belly, you'll hurt yourself_ – _go watch Mickey okay?" Stacy coaxed the way he usually did when they didn't want to be bothered; he was frequently the go-between, since he tended to be the more gentle of the group._

" _NO! I SAID, I WANNA TRY! LEMME TRY!" She shouted hot-temperedly, stamping her bare foot on the cement as she lunged for him. He stumbled back quickly on his spindly legs, expecting rapidly-swinging punches as instead fat, fake crocodile tears sprang to her eyes, the result of months of practice at the skill of crying on-command._

" _Okay, okay! You can try, just quit hollering or ma'll come!" Jay had given in, as usual; even at that age, she knew what she wanted, and got it. And he knew not to get in her stubborn, pig-headed way. Even if he could be as equally pig-headed and stubborn, he knew what was good for him – and what his mother would say if he ever purposely hurt her, physically or otherwise._

* * *

That was how she learned to skate. In her own eyes, she wasn't very good.

'Hell, I'm still not very good', she mused to herself, thinking back on her arrival and early years – at least the flashbacks she could remember.

She didn't care; She loved it anyway, just about as much as she loved surfing. She _was_ professedly good at surfing. It was hard being one of the only girls (excluding Peggy, her best friend of the group aside from Jay) to hang out with a bunch of boys. Most people just assumed she'd slept with one (or more) to get into the crew, being so close and all, which was as far from the truth as possible.

As established, at this point in time Jezebel saw herself as Jay's non-biological little sister. That year, she was fourteen, about to turn fifteen; Jay was going-on-sixteen; Tony and Stacy were eighteen; sand the rest were somewhere in between. She told herself she'd never dream of dating any of the eldest; it would be too weird. She skated, they skated. She surfed, they surfed–everything they did, she'd probably done it, too. She drank, cursed, spat, and pulled pranks; she partied (perhaps sometimes a little too hard), and hung out with the same crowd. Two things mainly set her apart from the boys, namely the frequently-applied, heavy black eye makeup and certain 'bodacious assets', as Tony would call them, which were beginning to show more than she herself would personally have liked.

Entering her father's shop one stuffy, summer afternoon, having just returned from some errands she'd been running, she stepped behind the counter and leaned against it, trying to get as close to the box fan on the counter as possible. After a few moments spent staring blankly at nothing, since there was absolutely nothing going on, she turned to Chino, an older Mexican man who worked for Skip and Jeff, and whom she considered an Uncle.

"You do know you're named after a pair of work pants, right Uncle?" She quipped smartly before he cuffed her on the ear with his open hand as she jumped away from the fan and sprinted off.

"Like I ain't heard that one before, kid!" He yelled after her as she disappeared into the backroom where Skip was shaping a surfboard.

"Yeah um, put on a respirator Jez! Shit, don't inhale this crap, Jesus," he said, pointing with his sander toward the wall where a number of work tools and supplies hung.

"Sure, Skip," she answered, doing what was asked of her for once. 'Catch flies with honey, not vinegar,' she reminded herself as she returned to his side once more, upturning a 10-gallon bucket to sit upon.

"That board for me, bro?" She asked conversationally, her voice slightly muffled through the mask, knowing very well the answer would be some long, drawn-out version of 'no'.

The respirator mask he wore moved comically as he answered in his typical, light-hearted way: "Are you a pro surfer? Not yet? Didn't think so. Ya can have any-a them boards you want out front. This here is a _custom order_ , fer some guy out on Oahu. You feel me, kid? Big bucks..."

"Ah. Well shit, if that's how you wanna be!" She laughed. "Anyway, I'm gonna need a small loan of $20." She held her hand out mock-expectantly.

"Fer whaaaat, exactly?" He asked, dragging out the sound of his letter 'a', scraping at the board some more without looking at his daughter. He'd come to expect these types of antics from her when she really wanted something.

"Well see, I owe Alva twenty for a bet I made," she continued.

"Which was?"

"Man, what's with the third-degree?" She frowned, pretending to be hurt.

"Wanna know where my hard-earned money's goin' in this business transaction," he mumbled.

"I bet ' im I could go longer without brushing my teeth. And I won," she told him proudly, needlessly pointing to her teeth beyond the mask.

"Ugh, gross-" he began before adding, "so, what was the incubation period?"

"Two weeks," she grinned.

"That's my disgusting girl," he congratulated without looking up from his work. "Now I ain't giving ya no loan, so get back ta the counter! And put Sid to work when he comes in, will ya. Nathan's off on some surf thing."

She fully frowned now. She'd half-expected this answer, but there was always a small glimmer of hope he'd change his answer and fork over the cash. Ah well, can't blame a girl for trying!

"Brush yer teeth, Lil' Bit!" He shouted after her as she tossed the disposable respirator into the trash and bounced back out front.

Reaching under the counter, she took a rather large swig of vodka from the bottle stashed there, on top of which she was ever-so-professionally lounging, counting that as her teeth-brushing for the day. 'Alcohol kills bacteria, right?' bounced through her head bemusedly.

There were a few store browsers, but other than that, Zephyr was pretty much empty. Chino had defected somewhere, probably out back messing around, so it was just her up-front. Usually browsers would've been kicked out by now, but she really didn't care if they were there or not. Zephyr; a filthy, dusty-looking little shop from the outside, (and the inside sometimes, too…) but most didn't mind. They just wanted to surf, or in some cases skateboard, and needed a place to buy supplies. They didn't need anything fancy. At least, that was how she usually explained it.

She sat alone about half an hour longer before Peggy skated through the front door, which they usually left hanging open for lack of air circulation, waving two tickets in her face. Peggy was a couple years older, and the most awesome person she knew. She treated her as her mature, older-than-her-years self, instead of like a little kid as others tended.

"Dude, who? How? Where? When?" She couldn't even form complete sentences. She set the liquor bottle carefully back in its place, since she was an absolute klutz and prone to breaking and/or dropping things, and also because she definitely wasn't supposed to be drinking it, before Peggy continued.

"Oi! Who, she says!? Who else? The _Sex_ _Pistols_ , 'course! I won 'em from the radio. It's in Del Mar, next week. I just got one question for you… YOU WANNA COME?!" She shouted melodramatically, shaking the younger girl by the shoulders.

"Are you insane? Of course I wanna go, you dolt!" Jezebel screeched back, bouncing off the counter and onto her feet.

"God Save the Queeeen!" They shouted in ear-splitting unison, leaning back-to-back.

As you might be able to tell, the pair were obsessed with the _Sex Pistols_. They'd even spontaneously adapted some British slang into their everyday vocabulary.

"Peg, are these back-stage tix?" She asked suddenly.

"Hell to the yes!"

"Let's go gloat. Skipper, we're goin' out! Get your ass out here and watch your damn shop, I'm too young to work here anyway!"

As you might deduce, she never could picture Skip fully as a father figure. It wasn't as if he cared that she spouted profanity at him, he was just 'Skip', never 'dad'. He was a stoner who partied and struggled with alcoholism. The only 'limits', as he put them, he would set on her were to not get so drunk and fucked up that she got pregnant. She figured she could hold down that rule; she claimed to not be remotely attracted to any of the Dogtown boys. And anyway, how could anyone see Skip as a father figure? In reality, she knew he cared; but, he cared about all the guys on the skate and surf teams. Just because he was a biological parent didn't mean she had to be affectionate toward him. He was basically a big kid himself.

A couple years ago, Skip decided to start a skateboarding team for the guys who were always surfing, skating, and hanging around the shop. He already had a small surf team, but skateboarding was starting to get big in town again as an actual sport, and Skip wanted in on the cash he could make from the fad. They even had dark-blue 'Zephyr' t-shirts made to wear to competitions. And even he had to admit he also genuinely tried to keep those 'grommets', as he and his friends would often call the kids, out of trouble. They were all good kids, for the most part, some just tended to get a little carried away. Especially if you put them in a crowd, that could get especially rowdy. Take Jay, for example–he presented a tough front; outwardly, he was rude, loud, and obnoxious–but he did take care of his mother, and Jezebel too. The boy loved his mother more than Jezebel loved chocolate, which was a whole lot.

Tony was just all-around arrogant, but he'd protect his sisters, perceived or otherwise, with his life. The guy was over-protective of his actual sister Kathy with one of his own best friends, whom she was dating. He didn't even like Kathy and Stacy touching, and Stacy was probably the safest one of the group. He'd run between the two and shove them apart the moment they were within four feet of each other.

And Stacy–well, Stacy was just… himself. He was indescribable–had a job, a car, a watch, and was incredibly loyal. He could be pretty straight-edge, though he would indulge in the occasional joint or an alcoholic beverage.

* * *

The two girls tossed their boards to the ground and skated out the door, although Jezebel immediately collided with Sid, who was coincidentally entering as she attempted to exit.

"Sorry, Baby Sid, it's a really shitty state today. Not like it isn't that way any other day, but it's horrible. Also I think Skip needed some boards stocked. See ya later!" She apologized, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Sid was a year older than she, yet she still called him 'Baby Sid'. 'It's kinda strange how things work out like that,' she thought to herself as they exited.

They proceeded out the door (unscathed, this time) and down the street, heading for the middle-school playground where everyone else was most-likely gathering to skate or hang out. First person they caught hold of was Shogo; Jezebel admittedly had a huge crush on him, even if he was much older than she (Wentzle was pretty cute, too, in her humble opinion, albeit a little closer to her own age). So there went her theory that the older Z-boys were too 'old' to hold her interest. Suppose that left just Tony and Stacy as off limits, since they'd been in her life the longest. And Red Dog, but that was a completely different story.

"Sho, we're goin' to a _Sex Pistols_ concert!" Peggy screamed from about 50 feet away with her impressive lung capacity.

"Ah no fair, I wanna go! Where hell ya get those!?" Shogo rarely freaked out about anything, but then again, the _Sex Pistols_ weren't just anything, or rather anyone.

"WKLJ, stupid! Where else?!" Jezebel shouted; that was pretty much the only station to which most of them listened.

Next, they (or rather Jezebel) ran into Jay–literally collided with him; or, that is, he ran into her. It didn't seem to faze him much, though. She had to stop running into people today!

"Dude, guess whose concert we're going to, Jayboy?" Jezebel asked stupidly, untangling her limbs from his, searching for her board which had flown under the nearest picnic table.

"Huh… the Easter Bunny? I hear he gets a pretty good crowd this time of year," he smart-mouthed, trying to right himself and climb back onto his board.

"Shut up, jackass. We're going to see the fucking _Sex Pistols_ …." she started, brushing herself off as she stood.

"God save the Queeeeen!" She and Peggy shouted simultaneously again, resuming their famous, back-to-back 'Charlie's Angels' reminiscent pose.

They went around to different friends over the next hour, announcing their triumph to everyone, until a few decided to take matters into their own hands and tackle the pair.

"Enough already!" Was the last thing Jezebel heard before her back hit concrete and she felt herself being held down by Jay and Tony.

She giggled hysterically, unable to catch her breath; having two big guys on top of her was not optimal for breathing. "Ger' off!" She lamented breathlessly.

* * *

 **A/N 2** : If Skip seems too young to be the main character's father, that's the point – he was supposed to have been a dumb teen himself when the birth happened. If my info is correct, he would've been 28 in '76 (b. Jan '48), making his kid exactly half his age here. Also, I was young when I started this and didn't do much research, so have now adjusted ages from my original story to make more sense after having done some research. Important dates: Jezebel (OC), b. July '62 (age 14 in Jun '76); Alva/Peralta, b. Sept/Oct '57 (age 18 in Jun '76); Muir/Red Dog, b. 1958 (age approx. 17 in '76); Adams, b. Feb '61 (age 15 in Jun '76). Also, I'm pretty sure the Sex Pistols were nowhere near America in '76, but whatever. Like I said, not historically accurate!


	2. A Concert & A Decision

(Disclaimer: as always, I do not own any recognizable persons, characters, events, or music.)

 **A/N:** Please excuse the lack of Z-boy mania from this chapter. Character building, you know. Some make brief appearances, but that's it.

" _And when the clock strikes twelve,  
_ _Will you find another boy to go and kiss and tell?  
_ _'Cause you know I never will;  
_ _I think we should strike a match,  
_ _And we'll hold it in the wind to see how long it lasts.  
_ _We could make the time stand still."_

 _-Five Minutes 'Til Midnight,_ Boys Like Girls

 _Chapter 2: A Concert and A Decision_

 _One Week Later_

She couldn't believe it. They were at a _Sex_ _Pistols_ concert. Jezebel's only thought was, 'The fucking _Sex Pistols_ , man!'. She had a hard time standing still; they'd taken the bus to Del Mar to get there, and her leg jostled against her friend's the entire trip. On the outside though, standing in line, she appeared calm and collected. Peggy was equally excited, but showed the same restraint making that known to the general public, lightly brushing it off as just another adventure; even if they refused to admit it, secretly they were dying inside with explosive eagerness.

Jezebel's pale, blue-gray eyes danced happily, and her kinky, wily elbow length hair stood big as ever, shifting with the slight breeze as she waited with Peggy to enter the show. Her hair was known for being untamed most of the time, thanks to inheriting her father's hair texture genetics. This was emphasized on humid days or when she spent time in the ocean, where the salt contributed to its size and added a rougher texture. They could hear distant screaming and rumbling emanating from within the venue; the stomp of feet on metal stands, the buzz from the mosh pit and surrounding area, the screams and shouts of eager fans. The pit already had a few scraggly-looking people in it from what Jezebel could see standing on her tiptoes to peer over the sea of heads in front of her, though only the intro-band played their clashing metal with unpracticed, raw, screaming punk voices echoing. The din of the sold-out show amped everyone up, waiting to have the time of their lives.

"Dude, Peggy, can you believe we're here pretty much because of T. Rex? Like seriously, without those guys, there'd pretty much be no 'punk'. I mean, maybe someone else woulda influenced someone else to make music like this–well, Iggy Pop, too–but damn. God better bless Marc Bolan!" Jezebel gushed, nudging her friend in the ribs when she caught a glimpse of the _Sex Pistols_ ' drummer walking by inside the venue unaccompanied by bodyguards.

"Ooohh yeah, Marc's pretty much a god himself... I'm not even sure he needs blessing…" she mused dreamily, a far-off look in her eye as she focused on the upcoming activities. The line moved forward slowly, inching along to much fanfare.

The blood pounded in Jezebel's ears, pulsing through her veins, and the music mingled with it in its constant rush to her head as the pair entered the doors among the throng who had been let through. The crowd was so large and crazy, they were allowed into the venue in lots by ticket number. The pure, unadulterated sounds all around assaulted Jezebel's ears, amazing her to no end. As they entered the stadium, people bounced around, most of them dressed all in black with crazy hair and multiple piercings. Having been suddenly and violently shoved, Jezebel grabbed onto the leather jacket of the nearest person, who luckily happened to look quite friendly. She noted his very-tall, ginger-red Mohawk as she righted herself and brushed off her top, which was held together at the shoulders by a series of safety pins.

"Sorry! Hey, who's the shitty opening band?" She shouted at the top of her lungs in order to be heard over the blasting amplifiers. She figured it couldn't hurt to ask, as she'd just bumped into the guy. She had to stand on her tiptoes to get close enough to the guy's ear so he could hear what she asked.

The guy turned to her. "Don't worry about it! I dunno, it's the _Freaks_ , or some shit," he shouted back. "Hey, you wanna come up front with me? Bring your friend along," he suggested, gesturing to Peggy who was pressed close to her side due to the pushing of the crowd, willing herself not to get lost in the sea of crazy.

"Fuck yeah. we do!" Jezebel shouted more loudly than before, practically screaming as two people turned to look at her. She cupped her hands around the other girl's ear and shouted into it to relay the message of the boy's offer.

"Are you kidding?! I wanna get so close to that stage, Johnny can spit on me! Hell I wouldn't care if he spat a whole bottle of water on my head!" She yelled at the top of her lungs over the din, her voice carrying even better than her younger friend's, and Jezebel broke out into hysterical laughter.

The girls grabbed hands and Jezebel took a handful of Bret's jacket as they followed him to the mosh pit in the front of the arena, pushing and shoving people out of the way as they went.

"Hey, know any place that does clean piercings? Like, near Dogtown?" Jezebel shouted to the guy who invited them up-front, noticing he had an eyebrow piercing.

"Piercing? In Dogtown?" The guy repeated loudly, contemplating this question for a moment. "Yeah–one on 5th, they're pretty cool–also one near Bicknell!"

"Thanks," she practically screamed, then returned her attention to the mass of concert madness unfolding before her.

Peggy leaned both elbows on the edge of the stage, about a foot away from the singer with whom she was not-so-secretly in love. Her eyes beheld an odd sort of glaze as if entranced, and Johnny Rotten was some sort of science specimen she was studying in biology lab. For a second, he made direct eye-contact with her, and she squealed loudly, but the noise were lost in the crowd. She nearly lost her balance as she bounced up and down like a pogo stick, being further jostled by the crowd in the mosh pit, and Jezebel caught her shoulders to steady the other girl as she watched the reaction. Someone shoved them again, and she could feel a bruise beginning to rise under her ribs on one side as an elbow slammed into her. Jezebel's personal favorite member was Sid, even though he couldn't sing that well and wasn't a very technical guitar player, either... in fact, she had absolutely no idea what he brought to the band, except for a bad-boy, torn-up, 'dirty punk' image. Maybe that was it. She loved his accent, and it practically made her swoon every time she heard his foul mouth utter a sound.

A raucous song queued up, and people shoved harder, banging purposely into each other, bounding up and down with arms at their sides. At one point, Jezebel was shoved up against the stage, giving her ribs another gnarly bruise. The screaming, discordant sounds clashed in their heads, ears ringing and bodies vibrating.

By the close of the concert, Peggy and Jezebel sported quite a few fresh bruises, scratches, and at least one small cut each, caused by the spikes, zippers, or straps on others' clothing assaulting them. Jezebel had a large, purpling bruise on her jaw, accompanied by a small, deep gash that may very well scar, to the unexpected chagrin of Skip when she returned home the next day.

The concert proved simply amazing as it closed out, she decided as she headed backstage with Peggy and Bret, the guy who invited them into the pit. Turned out, he was acquainted with the drummer, Paul Cook. Bret was pretty awesome; he lived in Del Mar for now, was on the edge of seventeen – he is birthday was within two weeks. He'd been emancipated from his parents the year before, after enduring a majorly unsatisfactory home life. He was a high-school drop-out who was mostly into skateboarding and the punk scene. He only skated for fun and found it fascinating the girls were part of a skate team. He offered to let Jezebel and Peggy crash at his apartment for the night, which was fine by them. He wasn't too much of a creep; plus, he offered for free. Jezebel had no idea how someone from Del Mar could possibly know a British drummer so closely, but apparently, being the kind of guy who wandered around following the bands he idolized, he'd visited the villas of some Brits with friends, and that was where they'd met.

The minute they walked into the trashed backstage area, Peggy began hyperventilating, her entire body visibly vibrating with anticipation. Jezebel thought her friend's eyes might pop out of her head. Johnny relaxed on a beat-up old armchair (Jezebel wondered how the hell this particular chair had gotten here, and how it was still amazingly in one piece, but ultimately that wasn't important). His legs draped over one arm, his upper body across the other. He looked up for a second, recognized Bret, and looked away.

"Oi, Bret, who's this?" He questioned, glancing at Jezebel and Peggy once more, most-likely thinking they appeared a little young to be at this particular concert.

"They got backstage shit, J."

"'Beckstage shit, eh? Righ' on." Johnny made direct eye contact with Peggy, who now looked like she might faint. She appeared to be holding her breath, and by that point was practically foaming at the mouth.

"You got something ta say, girlie?" Sid asked as he practically tumbled into the room, righting himself and scratching his head. His glance was also trained upon Peggy especially; she had a simply awestruck look on her face.

"Yeah, yeah I do. We. Fucking. Love you," Jezebel answered for her; Peggy nodded in agreement, eyes wide.

"Do ya, now. Well..." Sid waltzed toward his dressing room with a single jerk of his head in the direction he was heading, and Jezebel followed.

Skip would probably kill her if he ever found out, though he pretended he didn't care about his daughter's life choices and thought he was being a 'progressive' parent by allowing her to be free. But, she knew he still wouldn't have been happy about it. Tony probably would've congratulated her; Stacy would've been unreadable–hesitant because she was so young, yet happy since he obviously wanted _her_ to be happy; and Jay would've been jealous, because, well, he was just 'Jay' like that. He always bothered her about boys, worried they'd lose their close bond if she got too close to someone who could detract from their lifelong friendship or take her away from surfing and skating. And maybe because of something a little deeper, as well. Jezebel never thought of herself as a true 'groupie' of any band until after that night. In fact, it didn't really hit her until the next week, when reality caught up to her. She hadn't actually had sex with him, in reality he'd just gone down on her; but it had been one of the first forays into her own 'sexual awakening'. The next morning, the two girls rode their skateboards back to the bus stop, headed home after a night to remember.

 _Two-and-a-Half Weeks Later_

One sunny Sunday morning, Bret called the house. Jezebel had quite frankly forgotten she'd given him her number before she and Peggy left. She vaguely heard the phone ring two or three times, assuming Skip had picked up the receiver, then heard him slam it back down again as telemarketers and bill collectors called a dime a dozen, but he finally answered on the third consecutive call.

Skip hollered to her over the din of the stereo, which he had turned up relatively high as he served himself a breakfast of beer and leftover donuts. "Lil Bit! Phone!"

Jezebel emerged from her room where she rarely actually slept, to answer. "Who is it?" She yelled over the racket.

"Whaaat?!" He shouted back.

"Who–oh, fuck it! God's sake, gimme the damn phone, Skip!" She snatched the phone from him savagely, stomping into the bathroom, dragging the curly cord and its accompanying stand through the hallway and closing it under the bathroom door. She locked herself in and rested atop the dingy, marble sink, her feet resting on the toilet seat.

"'Lo? I heard a lotta yelling. What's up? It's Bret," the voice on the other end of the line greeted; she could hardly believe her ears.

"Oh! Hey Bret, how's it? Yeah, that's just Skip... I'm his kid. Biologically, at least," she half-joked.

"Yeah, well, I'm actually moving down to VB soon, would you mind showing me around? I'm not moving just yet, but thought I'd scout the area! I'm in a phone booth on Bicknell. You could come get that piercing you wanted, or something? I'd love to introduce you to my buddy, Marco; he's an excellent artist at that shop up on the hill I was telling you about, he won't do you wrong. Why don't you meet me at the bottom of the Hill?" He asked hopefully.

Jezebel was bewildered and rendered completely speechless. It was very rare any guy other than one of the boys on the team wanted to hang out with her, as she was essentially a pariah at the high school where she rarely attended. She was a little, shall we say, 'intense' most of the time, which was just in her nature. Her personality had been shaped by where she'd grown up, with whom she'd grown up. Growing up as one of the younger kids in a group of hard-core, rowdy, unbridled boys shaped her in ways she didn't even realize herself.

"Um, sure–I can meet you there in, like, fifteen minutes. See ya!" Jezebel answered, pumping a fist into the air and bumping the mirror with it on accident.

"Skip, 'm going out!" She shouted over the blasting record, tucking her board under her arm and hopping toward the door while simultaneously pulling her Vans over her bare feet.

"What the hell're you wearing?" Skip observed from the couch in the front room, turning down the music to a volume at which he could speak, where he'd recently moved from the kitchen with a cigarette in-hand.

She paused by the door for a moment, glancing down to survey her clothes, a mostly-destroyed Iggy Pop t-shirt full of holes which was chopped off about half-way down her midsection just below the picture emblazoned upon it, a triangle swimsuit top underneath, and a pair of super-old, cut-off short-shorts, before answering smartly, "clothes."

"Okay then. Don't get arrested, little maggot…" He advised sarcastically with a chuckle, rolling his eyes as she flew out the door. This daughter of his was going to give him a coronary one day.

Jezebel's head spun as she stood outside, dumbly trying to remember how to get to Bicknell, then began to wander down the street from the house at a quick pace. Normally, this trip would've been an easy feat, since she'd lived in the area forever and knew it pretty well, but her brain just wasn't working today and she couldn't remember how to get to the popular skate haunt for the life of her. She slowed to a walk once more, continually dumbfounded, and ducked into the nearest storefront to ask a clerk directions. A second later, her brain's reset switch flipped, she snapped out of her daydream and set off back on-track again.

Along the way, she rolled past a group of her friends who were heading the opposite direction on various modes of transportation including bikes and skateboards, causing havoc wherever they roamed.

"Where ya going?!" Jay shouted from somewhere near the center of the pack, breaking away to follow her. She answered over her shoulder as a few heads snapped in her direction, intending to address the entire crowd, "gettin' pierced, bitches!"

She missed the sight of Stacy shaking his head as Jay continued to follow for a short time, before she noticed what he was doing.

"What–you inviting yourself along, JB?" She asked, turning to dangerously skate backwards down the sidewalk for a moment, facing him. This caused her to slow considerably, and he caught up, falling into the same pace alongside her.

"Hey, I'm not invited?" He asked, pretending to be moderately hurt by this.

"Well if you want, I can't stop you. 'M meetin' my friend, Bret," she answered, picking up the pace now. She glanced over just in time to witness him wrinkling his nose.

"Nah, catchya later," he answered; and he disappeared.

When she finally found the phone booth, she was about five minutes past her estimated time of arrival, and very sweaty. She dropped her head to smell her underarm, then made a face. She stood outside for a moment, holding her board still underneath her foot, as her heart sped up; she stared through the glass at him. His long, dark-ginger Mohawk-styled hair was down today, pulled into a low ponytail. He had two new visible piercings: one in in his lip–a labret, to be exact–and another ring through one nostril. With his hair down, you could barely tell both sides were shaved short. He opened the glass door to greet her; it was amazing there was still a door on the booth, as usually the glass would've been broken out a couple days after it had been installed.

His face flushed slightly as he emerged. "Hi–the place is this way. What're you thinking of getting?" He asked conversationally. She picked up her board, carrying it behind her back as she fell into step with him, quickening her pace to match his long-legged strides.

"I was thinking... a lip piercing... and I want to get my ear cartilage pierced a couple times. And, maybe a peace tattoo on my wrist?" She'd wanted this particular tattoo for a long time, but the piercings were a relatively-new idea.

"Well, the piercing will definitely be the harder to take care of; gotta make sure the holes don't close up and you don't get an infection. Tattoos don't really require much maintenance, though you do also have to make sure it doesn't get infected before it heals. It's nothing to worry about, really, I'm sure you'll take great care of it," Bret rambled.

Jezebel was all for this sudden, uncharacteristically talkative burst from him, mostly because she couldn't think of a single thing to say in response. She kept thinking of his labret piercing, and how wonderful it looked. And how the letters b-r-e-t were in labret, and 'Bret' was his name. It made her giggle.

"Here it is... I don't know how we're going to get around the policy, though. What do you think your f-" Bret began. For a moment, Jezebel forgot Bret didn't know much about Skip, other than he was pretty much always drinking, co-owned a surf shop, and loved loud music. This was all information she divulged the night they stayed at his place, or what he could deduce from his phone call.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Skipper'll definitely say yes–he don't care. He'll be too drunk or stoned to figure anything out until the day after, anyway," she answered, formulating a plan in which to get Skip to sign the necessary consent forms while he was raging-drunk, which, truthfully, was never really too rage-like. She probably could've forged it, she mused, but why bother when he'd say yes anyway?

"Let's see what you think about this place and the guy I know first," he answered as she followed him into the bright red-painted brick building, glancing around curiously.


	3. A Walk on the Wild Side

(Disclaimer: I don't own LoD, song lyrics, etc., I have just written the story for your reading enjoyment.)

 **A/N** : I don't claim to know the regulations regarding minors for body modification in California, and certainly not in the 1970's; therefore, I can't be sure anything stated is true in the following.

" _I know it's done for me,  
_ _If you steal my sunshine.  
_ _Not something hard to see,  
_ _If you steal my sunshine.  
_ _Keeping dumb and built to beat,  
_ _If you steal my sunshine."_

 _\- Steal My Sunshine,_ Len

 _Chapter 3: A Walk on the Wild Side_

The bells on the door jingled as Bret pushed it open, and Jezebel followed him to the back of the shop, not at all leery about the condition of the store. It presented impeccably, being completely spotless inside and smelling heavily of cleaning products and sterilization. Two or three clients sat in medical-style chairs, artists' needles whirring away at some design or another in two of the seats. A girl with red hair and a young guy in a green shirt were getting designs tattooed into their skin, and an older man already practically covered head-to-toe in tattoos sat in another of the chairs, getting his septum pierced. Black Sabbath could be heard playing faintly in the background.

"Jezebel, this is Marco, a good friend of mine. Marco, this's Jezebel, she was thinking of gettin' some stuff done. A tattoo and maybe some piercings, I think?" Bret glanced at her questioningly.

"Nice to meet you, Marco." Jezebel put out her hand and gave his outstretched one a good, firm shake, "I want a tattoo on my wrist, my lip pierced on the left side, and a couple ear cartilage piercings."

"How old're you, Miss J? We'll need a signature if you're under eighteen," Marco answered with a knowing grin. Jezebel hoped to slyly avoid this question, but it was obviously impossible.

"Damnit... I'll get it..." Jezebel muttered under her breath, once again thinking how easy it would be to get Skip to sign the forms. 'He probably won't even care', she decided.

"How about I schedule you tomorrow, and I'll send you home with some consent forms. If your guardian says no, call me and we'll cancel. While you're here, though, any idea what kinda design you might be thinking about? Oh, I'll get you some body mod info, by the way."

At this point, Marco was beginning to sound a bit like a used car salesman.

"I was thinking a Japanese kanji for 'peace'. Something small... I want to have the phrase 'be not nobody' under it, in script."

If Marco sounded like a used car salesman, then apparently, Jezebel was an interested car-buyer.

"Okay, I'll take care of you myself when you come back for your appointment. See you tomorrow... at noon, that's the only time I can schedule you this week."

He reappeared from another room into which he'd disappeared to locate consent forms, an information packet, and his appointment book. He handed over a business card. "Also, here's my business card. Tell your friends."

Jezebel nodded at Marco, then led Bret out of the shop. "Wanna come to Zephyr with me? I need to pick some stuff up, get these signed, and talk to someone. Looks like you could use some new wheels, too. Then maybe we can do something fun?" She asked, forms clutched in-hand.

"How far is it? Bus comes back at 3:30, that's the last time it comes through today, so..." Bret seemed uncertain, though she sensed it stemmed from something deeper than just not wanting to miss a bus. He glanced down at the old, clay wheels on his board, agreeing on that front.

"We're having a party tonight and I was wondering if you wanna come... you can crash at the house, and I'm sure one of the guys can drive you home when you're ready to head that way," Jezebel suggested enthusiastically.

"Sure, that'd work, I guess. Haven't got anything to do tomorrow anyway, so I'll go with you to get your work done." Both tucked their skateboards under an arm, and he fell into step with her, seeing as she had walked a little ahead of him.

As soon as they arrived at Zephyr, Tony immediately trailed over, circling Bret like some sort of deranged, puffed-up bird-creature in a horror story. There was already a small, growing group of kids in the storefront, as usual, watching each other do increasingly dumb feats of bravery.

Bret gave Tony the scariest glare Jezebel had ever seen out of anyone, including Tony himself (who had some pretty primal-looking stares), and to her surprise Tony slunk away without even a single sarcastic remark, looking very much like a cat who got caught drinking from the fishbowl. She giggled at the two of them, acting like territorial animals. What was Tony's deal?

"SKIPPER! SIGN THESE FOR ME!" She shouted loudly through the entire shop. Immediately, she heard what sounded like a large number of items crashing to the floor, but thought nothing of it until she realized it had been poor Sid tripping over some buckets and knocking over boards in the stockroom–probably because she'd startled him by bellowing at the top of her lungs.

Sure enough, she found him sprawled out across the threshold to the locker room where the teams stored their stuff. Skip exited through said door, carefully stepping right over top of Sid but not offering to help him. Jezebel scowled at her father as he crossed, then offered Sid a hand to help him up. She shoved the consent forms off on Skip.

"What're theeese, Jez?" Skip took the forms from her hands without removing his sunglasses, probably hiding some wickedly-bloodshot eyes.

"They're for two piercings and a tattoo. You don't mind, right?" She asked innocently, trying out her puppy-dog eyes with hands clasped in front of her, pretending to be sweet and innocent.

"'Lil Bit, I don't care if ya put ink in yer skin or holes in yer body, but if yer thinkin' of pulling any stupid stunts or harassin' the cops again, think twice. I don't need trouble after last time..." Skip trailed as he walked toward the front counter to grab a pen. Sid began sweeping the hallway, making his way toward the front of the shop as he whistled to himself. Jezebel could hear recorded music coming from Jeff's office beyond Sid; probably coming up with some sort of new board prototype.

Jezebel bounced up and down a bit, clapping her hands and wrapping her arms excitedly around Bret. He awkwardly patted her back, a crooked smile on his face as he gauged the reactions of the few people in the room. No one looked especially happy he was there; he was glad he wasn't wearing his hair in its usual foot-tall Mohawk, as it seemed that might set him even further apart from the rest. He felt a little like an alien in his leather jacket with makeup around his eyes. She let go and followed Skip to the counter.

"I won't do anything you wouldn't," she answered with a grin, a teasing tone in her voice.

"Yah, well, that's what I'm afraid of there, Bit…" Skip mumbled nearly inaudibly.

"So... we havin' a party tonight or what?" Jezebel asked, looking at him deeply absorbed in crookedly signing the consent forms. She sighed as he continually ignored her, completely absorbed in the task at-hand.

He unceremoniously shoved the signed papers at her, his squiggly signature gracing the appropriate line.

"Uhm, yah, 'bout that... go get us some beer. We ain't got any, but if ya get some, we can have a party to remember... or forget." Skip hadn't been purchasing alcohol himself for a while, content to drink through the stash they already had on-hand and rely on others to provide it to him. Jezebel guessed it had something to do with his reputation for getting a teensy-weensy bit too drunk, just a bit too often, and doing things he soon regretted.

"I'm not even fifteen for another month... where the hell you expect me to get beer?" She shot at him.

"Take Jayboy with you, he can get beer outta the store down the street, can'tcha, Jayboy? Or your friend here, he certainly looks old enough to buy beer... y'ar, aren't ya?" Skip glanced at Bret hopefully.

"No, sir," Bret started, a slight, patchy blush crossing his freckled features. "I'm just tall…"

"SIR?" Skip nearly broke into a series of loud guffaws, doubling over. He righted himself and clapped Bret on the shoulder. "Ah, that's rich. Ya dunno how long since someone called me 'sir'. 'Skip' should do fine, you don't hafta act like a goodie-goodie for us. We got Stacy fer that... fuck, even my own daughter calls me 'Skip'. She hasn't called me dad in, like, her entire life. Now get outta here, the lot a ya."

Skip grabbed onto the back of Jayboy's shirt-collar and stopped him from retreating into the back room to avoid the chore, which he had been slipping past Skip to do, nearly pushing him into Jezebel.

Whilst the threes' company exited the storefront and began to walk down the sidewalk, she tossed quick introductions between the boys accompanying her to the party store. "Bret, this's Jay – my best friend since we were practically toddlers. Jay, this's Bret, I met him at the _Sex Pistols_ concert with Peggy last month."

Jezebel whispered to Jay once they'd stepped out of Bret's earshot as they walked down the street, "Jay, I don't want to sound like an Skip or anything, but can you get the two of us some vodka? Oooh, mescaline would be good, too... last week, man... I fuckin' hate Tony's stupid cousins. Pleeease?"

She was amazed as her best friend actually walked alongside her without protest, and on foot no less. Bret trailed nonchalantly a few paces behind them, hands crammed into his pockets.

"C'mon Jez, y'know I don't do that hard shit anymore 'n neither should you... but... I'll see what I can do. For you _only_ , though. Ya know I don't like you doing that," Jay folded to her request as Jezebel employed her best puppy-dog face, hanging off his arm.

"Ah thanks, a thousand times–thank you, Jay. It's just... I dunno," she practically cheered, hugging Jay around the middle and dropping off the last part of her sentence. "Piggyback ride?"

"What are you, ten?" Jay jested, pausing to anticipate his friend's motives as Jezebel stepped away from him a bit; she sprung onto his back a second later.

"No, I'm six. Where we goin' anyway, Jayboy?" She asked pointlessly; there was only one place around here that essentially allowed Jay to get away with anything he wanted, as the owner was closely connected to one of his mother's friends.

"Shit, Skip didn't gimme any money…" Jezebel remembered abruptly.

Jay spoke what she was thinking: "Probably on purpose?"

They stopped in front of a small party store, and Jay dropped her onto her feet. "I better go in alone, Jack'll let me buy whatever if I'm alone... and if he's in a good mood. Sorry dude, I don't think he'd give me anything free with you hangin' around. Seein' how yer not 'local'."

He left she and Bret standing outside; they leaned against the side of the brick storefront and Jezebel watched Jay work his magic through the glass. She turned around and looked to Bret, muttering, "ah, gotta love hometown loyalty..."

"So... what's _really_ up with you and Jay? You seem... close." His eyes held an inquisitive, but not prying, look.

"We're just friends, he's practically my brother. JB's too busy chasing six chicks at once to have an honest-to-god girlfriend. Like I said, we've known each other since we were kids... Skip left me at his mom's place a lot when we were younger. His mom is basically my mom, too."

"That's cool. So what'd you ask him?" Bret was starting to get a little nervous.

So she and Jay really weren't together. And, he hadn't seen her with anyone or heard anything about an existing relationship, which made him hopeful. He was nearly two years older than her, but the difference didn't seem that large to him.

Jezebel adjusted her ripped shirt, pulling it down over her flat tummy. As before, there were a million holes in it, appearing to have been run through a clothes washer a bit too roughly a few too-many times. She was very skinny, Bret decided with a quick glance. She was looking the other direction at Jay, who was now strolling easily out of the party store with a giant paper bag in his arms. Bret admired the way the setting sun seemed to glitter through Jezebel's hair. She tucked a beautiful, wild blonde lock behind her ear at that moment. He noticed it was the same color and texture as her father's, thick and frizzy and big, with random curls throughout reminding him of tiny springs. He noticed an old scar underneath her ear, another, fresher-looking one on her jawline from the concert, her single-sided ear piercing, the birthmark on her neck. He noticed many things about her. But the thing he noticed the most was her thinness. She was almost painfully thin, and he wagered if you looked hard enough you could see her bones pushing through her skin.

The slightly-buzzed girl wandered over to the tall guy who stood almost awkwardly in the corner of Zephyr, a red plastic cup clutched in his hand. He was nowhere near buzzed, he wasn't really a drinker; contrarily, when the girl beside him drank, she drank to forget. She drank to forget about the alcoholism that ran in her family; to forget the penchant for drugs she refused to acknowledge as such, disregarding the fact that her own mother was a habit-user; to forget how thin she was, and how she longed to have normal eating habits for once. He'd seen her midsection now, and knew she had a pronounced ribcage. Jezebel's ice-cold fingers trailed up and down Bret's arm, making the little hairs stand on-end. She moved away to lean against the wall next to him, mimicking his stance; one leg resting against the wall, the arm holding her cup crossed atop her opposite arm, which was outstretched downward.

"Hey Bret, how's it?" Her eyes sparkled.

Across the room, a curly-haired strawberry-blonde with relatively long hair watched Jezebel as she approached the tall boy, ghosting her fingers over his arm. He watched as Bret shivered a bit and said something to her, how she moved to the side to copy his position. He glared across the room and Jezebel was completely oblivious to the attention trained in their direction. The boy glimpsed her fingernails, painted black with French-style tips, as they scraped slowly along the other dude's arm again.

"Not too bad, I guess. Who's this curly-haired guy over there? He's been staring at us pretty intently for a while now," Bret asked, guiding her gaze across the room with the slight tilt of his chin.

Jezebel immediately spotted Bret's concern. There was Red Dog, scowling in their direction, who quickly pretended to be distracted and focused his stare elsewhere.

" _Been dazed and confused for so long, it's not true;_ _  
_ _Wanted a woman, never bargained for you._ _  
_ _Lots of people talk, and few of them know -_ _  
_ _Soul of a woman was created below, yeah…"_

How appropriate. A song about how women were evil had just begun. Damn Led Zeppelin, and damn Skip's choice in music. Jezebel visibly cringed before turning her attention back to Bret.

"Oh, don't worry, that's just Red Dog. I've known him forever. He's probably brooding about something, that guy's always brooding about something," Jezebel answered, turning back to her companion.

In her head, Jezebel was shuffling through every reason she could possibly come up with as to why Red Dog seemed to be glaring at Bret. Her mind couldn't land on a single reason why. Hopefully, it was just some sort of 'locals only' mentality, or even better, maybe he was just constipated.

"It's really not a problem, don't worry about it. I have no idea why he's got a stick up his ass. Let's just have some fun, I don't know when I'm gonna see you again. Dance with me?" She asked, plopping her red plastic cup onto the table next to them and hitching up her baggy jeans, which were barely held up by a thick, white belt.

They were admittedly an old pair of Jay's pants she'd changed into because of the cooling night air, and they were pretty much disintegrating, as they'd probably belonged to him more than three years ago.

"You'll probably be seeing a lot more of me now. I'm moving to the apartments near Pacific Ocean–decided a coupla days ago, I sign the lease next week. I didn't want to tell you I really just came down today to see you again." He knew this would make her happy, and let her tug him over into the center of the room which was serving as a makeshift dance floor.

She danced very close to him that night, Red Dog giving up the glowering act sometime throughout, and she gave no more thought to the subject. She wasn't going to let him spoil her fun just because he had some sort of stupid grudge against non-Dogtowners.

"Dudes–smoke break outside, yo!" Someone from the skate team yelled, shooting through the shop and out the back door at light speed on a pair of blindingly-white roller-skates with red stripes down the heels.

"You wanna come out?" She asked, and Bret agreed. She took his hand and led him out, passing Red Dog on the way and ignoring him. Luckily, he didn't follow.

In the back alley, two growing circles were forming, passing around two small pipes of weed. Jezebel leaned against a low brick wall and sipped her vodka-laced cherry coke contentedly as she was passed one of the pipes.

The next morning, Jezebel awoke safely in her own room. She could hear Bret snoring softly on the couch sofa through her empty door frame, which had only a beaded door hanger separating it from the rest of the house. Punk band posters lined the walls; a canopy bed with black dressings rested against one wall directly opposite a medium-sized window, low to the ground. The room was small and cluttered with various items, some balanced precariously on top of others. Piles of clothes she could neither identify as clean nor dirty littered one corner. In short, her room was messy–just the way she liked it. Her memory rushed back, and she could safely conclude she had come home of her own accord, dressed herself in an over-sized t-shirt of Skip's and terrycloth tennis shorts, and climbed into bed.

She crossed the hall to the little bathroom, where she surveyed herself in the mirror. They'd arrived home around 4 AM, and Jezebel had been able to do little else besides change and fall into bed, made apparent by her messy, ratted hair and partially rubbed-off eye makeup. She swiped under her eyes with a wash-rag, cleaning up the smudged makeup a little, ignoring her messy hair and heading to the kitchen where she began cooking bacon and cinnamon rolls.

'Breakfast of champions', she thought.

Soon, the aromas of her two favorite breakfast foods drifted through the house. Her eating habits were odd. Some weeks, she ate nothing; others, she ate so much she feared she'd gain ten pounds at once and explode in a violent fury. Today was going to be one of those binge days, she could tell. Luckily, she was good at hiding this vicious cycle from those around her. This half of her habit stood out in stark contrast with most of her childhood experiences. She'd had lots of practice going hungry when she was younger, back when Skip indulged more than he did now, if that was possible. She learned to just tighten her belt and move on, and maybe find some drugs to take her mind off the self-induced hunger a while. Then, he would go cold-turkey for a while, and they'd be back to large, full-fridge meals before he devolved into his old ways. After a time, it had evolved into a habit, a repetitive circle of over-eating, then not eating and turning to drugs to keep her brain occupied. Unbeknownst to her, it was beginning to wreak havoc on her adolescent body.

She stuck her head back out the kitchen doorway and bellowed down the hall, "breakfast, wake up old man!", neglecting the fact that Bret had been peacefully asleep on the couch in the living room.


	4. Tattoed & Pierced

(Disclaimer: Lyrics do not belong to me, and neither does Lords of Dogtown. Only Jezebel, Bret, and the plot-points not covered in the film are my property!)

 _"It is the springtime of my loving; the second season I am to know._

 _You are the sunlight in my growing; so little warmth I've felt before._

 _It isn't hard to feel me glowing; I watched the fire that grew so low._

 _It is the summer of my smiles; flee from me, keepers of the gloom._

 _Speak to me only with your eyes; it is to you, I give this tune._

 _Ain't so hard to recognize; these things are clear to all, from time to time."_

 _-Rain Song,_ Led Zeppelin

 _Chapter 4: Tattooed and Pierced_

A thump emanated from elsewhere in the house, indicating Skip had either thrown something or banged on the wall as a signal to leave him the hell alone. She heard Bret stir in the living room, most likely since she'd just screamed past him at Skip to wake up, as was their usual routine. She yelled, then she knocked, and if needed she barged in and ripped off the covers as a last resort - luckily, that wasn't something that happened often. Sometimes, she'd get lucky and the door would be locked, freeing her from the responsibility; after all, if she couldn't get in, she couldn't get in. Soon, Bret dragged himself into the kitchen, clad in yesterday's jeans; it'd been too hot overnight to bother wearing a shirt or use the sheet she left out. She turned and smiled at him, shifting the pan of bacon in her hand over the stove to redistribute the sizzling slices of meat.

"I thought of this last night... how come no one calls you ' _Bella_ ', or ' _Belle_ '? I figured that might be some sort of nickname you'd use... it seems to fit you," Bret questioned softly in a crackly morning voice.

"When I was little, everyone called me ' _Bella_ ', pretty much... except Jay. He called me ' _Bella_ ' rarely, but his favourite nickname for me was ' _Jez_ ' or ' _Jezi_ '. After a while, I guess it just stuck," she recounted. "Sometimes, people wouldn't even bother to separate our names, we spent so much time together. They'd call us ' _Jez-n-Jay_ '. When we were all really young, Stacy, he's another one of my friends, he would call me ' _Belly_ '. It was hilarious."

"Hmm. I'm gonna call you Bella. I think it's beautiful. What're you cooking? Need any help?" Bret was not at all focused on her answer as he sat at the kitchen table, purposely behind her.

He was more interested in her legs, which were just a tad long for her height. He noticed this as she turned, a pan of sizzling bacon in her hand. She swiftly grabbed three plates out of a nearby cupboard and placed them on the table, putting one directly in front of him. She could imagine his sleepy, little brain working as she slid four slices of crispy, boiling-hot bacon onto his plate, one of which he immediately grabbed without thinking or looking, instantly dropping it again.

"Ahh! Hot!" He whimpered, cradling his grease-burned forefinger and thumb in his other hand.

"Well you dummy, if you were paying attention to the BOILING HOT BACON I just put on your plate and _not my legs_ , you wouldn't be in this situation... and hey, don't glare at my poor bacon like that! It has feelings too you know! Or at least, it did," she quipped playfully, chuckling darkly as he glared at the bacon with a suspicious look.

She ruffled his long hair, which was admittedly beginning to get a little greasy, before taking the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and setting them on the hotpad she put on the table. "Don't touch the rolls until I get back, you wouldn't want to burn yourself again!" She shook her finger at him before running into the other room in her second attempt to wake Skip.

Her head popped into the room once more just as Bret was reaching for a sticky, sweet roll, shouting "No touchy!" and his hand immediately retracted.

' _How'd she do that?_ ' He wondered. Pretty soon, he heard pounding on a door down the hall, and subsequently another loud thud as if something had fallen to the floor. He listened as a shouting match broke out in the hallway; Jezebel must have won, because minutes later, Skip was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table in his underwear and a white t-shirt, barely awake. He shoveled bacon and rolls from his plate where his daughter had put them into his mouth, almost methodically, as Jezebel wordlessly popped open a beer can and handed it to him. She didn't like it, but she was sure that was what he needed to begin the day. The girl sighed lightly, shaking her head. So, this was the cycle they were settling back into now. It had been so soon, his perceived sobriety so short-lived.

"Gonna get my tattoo today, gonna be cool... oh, and some piercings I guess," she sing-songed as she finished the last bite of food and bounded off into her bedroom while the boy and the man sat silently together at the table, Skip beginning to drink his beer with increasing gusto and Bret still slowly eating.

Jezebel was having a particularly hard time trying to decide what to wear this morning. She didn't exactly understand why she wanted to look special today, but for some strange reason she wanted to look her best. Bret was having a hard time trying to decide what he thought of Jezebel as he sat at the kitchen table, his plate long-empty. All he could think about were her legs, those perfect, long legs of hers. Jezebel decided on a long, flowing black skirt, a pair of thick sandals with ankle straps she could skate in, and a relatively-nice (in other words, not completely destroyed) band tank top that fit her well. ' _Allman Brothers_ ', it read, and there was a photo-realistic drawing of a peach on the front. It was from the release of one of their last albums, _Eat a Peach_. They were one of Stacy's favourite bands, and he had a matching t-shirt as he'd gotten them for the two of them at the last concert he attended, having won tickets.

Bret decided he was definitely beginning to feel attracted to Jezebel. Somewhat strongly. But, what did she think of him? She hadn't known him long, but then again, she did pick him out of a crowd of thousands to talk to at a concert and allow him to distract her from her favourite band. He absently clacked his tongue stud against his bottom teeth, and Skip snorted lightly, glanced at him over the rim of his can, shaking his head. These kids and their fads... Bret guzzled the glass of orange juice Jezebel left for him, to look preoccupied. He rinsed his dishes, put them thoughtfully in the sink, and went to find where she'd gone, tossing his day-old shirt over his head as he went.

Jezebel perched atop the bathroom sink, as always, since she was too short to get close enough to the mirror behind it without doing so and see what she was doing at the same time. A tube of liquid eyeliner was poised in her hand, heading toward her already-lined left eye; she was just darkening the colour when Bret entered the room. "Can I use some of that? It does wonders for dark circles," he asked, and she nodded. "Can you put it on, though?"

Jezebel turned around fully and faced him. She put the liquid liner down and pulled a pencil liner from her makeup drawer. "We should use this kind, instead… it'll be smudgier," she answered as he settled in front of her and angled his eyes toward the ceiling. She put a tiny line of black around the top and bottom rim of each eye as gently as possible, and made him look in the mirror.

"You need very little, and your eyes are beautiful," she commented, turning back around to finish her own sparse makeup. When satisfied, she hopped down from the counter.

He stopped her as her feet hit the floor, leaning slightly into her personal space, pressing her back lightly against the sink. The dark pools of his eyes were so sincere as she stared into them; they seemed to swallow her whole, entrancing her with their spell. "I want to ask... I know we just met a few weeks ago, but, what do you think? Do you think anything about me? I–I was just wondering."

"Bret, I do think about you. In fact, I think a lot about you. But right now, I just don't know. We gotta see where life takes us, I guess. And if we're meant to be, we will be. Though, I can think of a number of people who might consider killing me for dating an outsider. But it's a chance I'm willing to take! I hope that's okay." She leaned forward and hugged him lightly in a friendly manner, tugging at his hand as she side-stepped around him toward the bathroom door. "C'mon… we'll head to the shop, okay? It's almost noon."

She wordlessly handed him a hair elastic, motioning to his hair, and he tossed it up on top of his head in a messy bun, revealing the shaved sides of his head.

The threesome consisting of Jay, Bret, and Jez convened in front of the little red tattoo and piercing studio, Jay having come last-minute at Jezebel's request for moral support (this mostly consisted of she invading his bedroom twenty minutes earlier, hopping up and down on top of him in bed before he complied). She carried her skateboard in her hand, unsure whether she'd be able to use it when she left later.

Jezebel sat in Marco's chair with an extreme case of the jitters as he went over her paperwork. Her foot tapped frantically against the floor and her fingers twitched with anticipation as they rested on her knees; ten minutes later, she held her throbbing lip gingerly in one hand, worrying the piercing around. She'd already gotten the cartilage of one ear pierced so far, opposite from the side with the lobe piercing she had for a couple years; and while it indeed hurt, the pain wasn't nearly as intense as her lip.

"Now don't play with it," Marco scolded. "It's gonna take anywhere from 6 weeks to maybe 3 months to heal completely. Keep it clean; try not to touch it much. My boy Bret knows how to take care of piercings, so just ask him if you got any questions. You really shouldn't swap spit with anyone til it's healed, because it'll be more likely to get infected, or worse; I don't recommend smoking or drinking, _and that means weed, too_ , unless you can clean it right away and put on lip balm, and stay away from sharp-slash-crunchy food if you can help it for a week or 2. Stay healthy and hydrated, get extra sleep if you can spare it. If you follow these, you'll get the best effect. Okay?"

He paused momentarily to let that information sink in, then continued, "it's probably gonna be sore, tender, or red a few days to a few weeks. But you'll love it, I'm sure. Leave your ear alone, too, and if you decide in a few months you want to pierce your daith, or get another cartilage hoop, you're more than welcome. I also gave your boy Bret here a cheat sheet in case you forget anything, and there's a couple more tips on there."

He added, "d'you wanna go ahead with the tattoo now or reschedule? I know it's hard to think about anything besides your lip."

At this point, Jezebel wasn't sure she could handle getting the tattoo today on top of multiple piercings, but ultimately decided she would. What was a little more pain? She nodded her head, afraid to speak. Better to get it over with today than try to come back another day for more torture. Jay fidgeted in the metal folding chair someone brought for him, drumming out a beat on the seat with his hands and scuffing his shoes on the floor restlessly. If he was supposed to be providing moral support, he wasn't doing a stellar job.

"Okay, as long as you're sure. I'll take frequent breaks so it's not all at once." He threw the dirty piercing needle in the trash and readied his tattoo supplies.

She motioned Bret over where he was browsing the tattoo book and grabbed his hand as Marco peeled the transfer paper off her wrist to reveal the design's outline, and before she knew it the needle buzzed to life. She tossed a glare at her so-called best friend who was doing everything but helping her feel more comfortable with the current situation at-hand, who stuck his tongue out at her in return.

After an hour in the chair, Jezebel was escorted out by Bret, who quite literally held her up, supporting her full weight. He stopped after a while and picked her up; she buried her head in his t-shirt and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel her bones, practically count her ribs through her top. It was almost scary. He hadn't realized she had so little body mass when he suggested she get all her mods at once. It was probably proving a huge shock to her system. Jay skated wordlessly behind them on Jezebel's board, flipping his own from hand to hand.

Once they returned to the house, Bret laid Jezebel carefully on the couch in her living room. Jay walked into the girl's bedroom and put her skateboard behind the door where he knew she preferred to keep it, for easy access when she needed to leave in a hurry. Glancing around, he realized how little time he'd actually spent in this bedroom; most of his memories revolved around either his own home, where she frequently visited, or the Cove where they surfed. He let himself rest on the bed a while, taking in the names of the bands on her posters. The room was painted dark-blue and messy as all hell. Items of clothing spilled out of dressers, and there was an alarmingly-large lump of laundry piled high in the corner; the room didn't smell foul, so it must've been clean laundry, he decided. Jay lifted himself from his best friend's bed and exited the room.

As he prepared to leave, he paused to snatch a photo from the pile of them atop her desk and studied it; it was an old, black-and-white print one of Skip's buddies, Craig, who everyone called by his last name, had taken when Jay was 12 and Jez was 10. The kids were skating an elementary school playground, because it was surrounded by a low, concrete sloped-wall of the drainage ditch where water would run off when it rained. Jezebel wore a helmet and kneepads, old things Jay lent her. The two leaned together with arms slung across each other's shoulders; Jezebel's head was tossed back as she laughed hysterically, facing Jay who was making a comical, scrunched-up face at the camera, his tongue lolling out like a dog. He stuffed the photo into the back pocket of his jeans nostalgically.

"See ya, Bret," Jay smacked the other boy on the shoulder as he passed and left.

Skip was down the street at the shop still, and Jay's departure meant the pair were alone in the house. Bret sat in the armchair across from Jez, watching her sleep. She woke after about two hours; he sat the entire time, studying her. She was beautiful, he thought. She sat up slowly and looked at him, rubbing her eyes with her fists. She began to talk, confused as to how she'd gotten home and where Jay had gone, but after about a second gave up the effort as she realized her lip was too swollen to speak easily.

Bret chuckled lightly. "Yeah… it's gonna take a while for that swelling to go down. Let me get you some ice…"

 _Two months later_

It was July. School had been out for quite some time, and Jezebel had lost even more weight. It was partly due to her lip piercing, partly due to a wish to look good (even though Bret didn't care what she looked like, as long as she'd agree to go out with him), and partly because of her fluctuating emotions. She had, however, inexplicably become a much better surfer within these last few months, taking second-place in a recent competition in Los Angeles. The lighter she got, the higher she glided upon the waves. Bret would sometimes meet her at the beach, where Skip begrudgingly allowed him to hang out despite his inability to surf. He'd watch the others paddle out and catch the waves, sometimes taking on odd beach-related jobs for the older crew. Jezebel's fifteenth birthday was tomorrow, and that was why Bret was so anxious to tell her how he felt. He wanted it to be special, so they could look back on it and remember the great day when he'd asked her to be his girlfriend. They had come very close to kissing the other day,but stopped themselves when they realized people were staring. Both blushed profusely and kept walking.

Jay, usually excited for Jez no matter what happened, felt his feelings of mild jealousy increase considerably. Having mistaken Jay's fondness for her as just normal sibling protection, she hadn't realized how she was putting him rather in the middle of a weird sort of 'love triangle'. Bret also talked to him some now, though they didn't exactly consider each other 'friends'; they were more like friendly acquaintances.

While Bret worried about what he'd get Jezebel for her birthday, and about how she felt for him, and whether she'd agree when he asked her out, Jezebel worried about what she felt for Bret. She felt they had the potential to become more than friends, it was just a matter of when to bring the subject up. She was, as usual, completely oblivious to things happening right under her nose.

Bret practically ran around downtown Santa Monica, dragging Jay along behind him into every store he saw using a sleeve of the button-down shirt Jay wore around his waist.

"You're her best friend, Jay, would she like this? How about this? This? No, this one! What do you think of this?!" He was practically frantic.

"Dude. You're totally asking the wrong best friend about this whole 'gift-giving' shit… that's Peggy's department," he said unhelpfully in a bored tone.

In the few months they'd known each other, Bret usually presented as a relatively calm, relaxed, laid-back individual. This quite surprised him, as this contrasted so much with Jezebel's vibrant, sometimes frenetic attitude which seemed to match Jay's own considerably more than it matched the other guy's. Apparently, now Jay was experiencing the opposite side to the complicated story that was Bret Daugherty. He rolled his eyes as he was dragged along yet again; he was actually kind of enjoying this... he stood on his skateboard and Bret, acting as some sort of strange sled dog, basically pulled him along behind, doing all the work.

The same could not be said for the poor individual currently pulling him along. He was so frustrated, he almost passed the store with the perfect gift displayed prominently in the window. Realizing his mistake so quickly forced Jay to stop quickly, which in turn sent the two tumbling to the ground together. Jay's skateboard shot out from under him, skidding into the side of the closest trash bin with a loud ' _BANG_ '.

Bret jumped up and helped Jay to his feet, who dusted off his dirty jeans and went to retrieve his board. Some of the spray-paint from the back was scratched, he observed, ruining the design he'd painted there. He shrugged it off and rejoined Bret at the display window.

"I found it! Ah, she'll love it! That one, the tiger. And that tapestry," he pointed inside the shop at a giant, stuffed white tiger and a large, splatter-painted tapestry with a neon-yellow peace sign in the middle. By the time they left, Jay was laden with the tiger, rolling along on his skateboard with the giant toy stretched across his shoulders, his arms over either end. Bret walked briskly next to him, carrying the tapestry and a black, wooden-beaded door hanger he'd also grabbed on impulse.

They arrived at Bret's recently-procured apartment near the beach, which was coincidentally within the same block as Jay's. Bret disappeared into the kitchen to call the pizza place where he currently worked as a bicycle delivery boy, calling off work for the next day. Tomorrow was going to be completely dedicated to her birthday. He had it all planned out: he'd go to her place around 10 AM; Skip would probably be at the shop by then. She'd still be asleep when he got there, since it was a Sunday and also her birthday, and he would set up her gifts at the foot of her bed; then, he'd just hold her, and she'd wake up in his arms. Nothing could faze him as he scampered around the apartment excitedly. Jay idly sat on Bret's small, green couch, fiddling with the tiger's ears as the other boy rambled on and on, and Jay sat nodding with his attention on the television, as if he were actually paying attention. Ridiculous, right? Well, the next day was going to be WAY more insane than he'd originally suspected, and there was a pretty large wrench that was about to be thrown into the equation.


	5. More Than One Birthday Surprise

(Disclaimer: Song lyrics and recognizable persons/characters do not belong to me. I only own Jezebel and Bret.)

" _So, if you please, take this moment;  
_ _Try if you can to make it last.  
_ _Don't think about no future,  
_ _And just forget about the past;  
_ _And make it last."_

 _-Reach for the Sky,_ Social Distortion

 _Chapter 5: More Than One Birthday Surprise_

Jezebel awoke on Sunday morning, her 15th birthday, with a massively-pounding headache. She could already tell this day was going to be less enjoyable than she would have liked. Firstly, right out the gate, she rolled out of bed and 'SMACK'! …onto the hardwood floor, bumping her head on the nightstand in the process and earning herself a nice cheek-bruise. She flung her arms out to the side in frustration, unwittingly punching her bedframe and causing her to curl her hand inward toward her body, laying still for a few moments before reluctantly pulling herself to a stand. This morning was already hell, and she hadn't even been awake for one minute. It was two hours earlier than she would normally wake up on a Sunday if she were skipping surfing, which she was today, putting the time at about 8 o'clock in the morning. This, though she didn't yet know, would throw the first wrench of the day into Bret's perfectly-planned 'birthday morning' scheme.

She crossed the hall into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Thus, the following events would serve as reason-number-two this day was going to hell in a handbasket. She heard the water spray from the showerhead, glancing into the mirror at her disheveled appearance before stepping into the bathtub without first checking the temperature. She then immediately bolted back out of the tub as the freezing-cold water hit her skin like a freight train and shocked her body awake. She banged her knee on the sink base as she rushed out with a shout: " _What_ the actual _fuck_?!"

Grabbing a cheap towel from the alcove behind the bathroom door and rushing out, she banged on Skip's bedroom door with the free fist that wasn't clutching her towel around her shivering, freezing body. She seethed at top-volume as she violently threw his door open, "what the fuck happened to the fucking hot water, Skip?!"

Skip, who had overslept, stumbled out of bed and over to his doorway, supporting himself in the doorframe. "Ah shit, wa'er prolly go' shut off agin..." he slurred, slightly hung-over (if not still mostly drunk) from his previous nights' partying and festivities.

The 'slow-down on drinking' kick he'd been on was beginning to subside, and he was starting to leave sobriety behind once more.

"God... that's it, I'm going to Bret's. Get up and take your ass to work, Skip! Why do I always feel like the parent?" Jezebel fumed, stomping off to her room.

"Wha', no breakfast?"

"NO! TAKE-A-FUCKING-ASPIRIN-AND-GO-TO-WORK, DAMNIT!" She screamed from her bedroom mostly all in one breath, yanking on underclothes, black track pants, and a loose, neon-green mesh Adidas t-shirt with the neck cut out to expose her shoulders and an undershirt beneath it to cover the bra straps.

She stuffed some clothes into her bookbag, along with her pair of Vans, her combat boots, some makeup, a brush, and various other hygiene items. She also stuffed the pile of photos from her desk into the overflowing bag. In her haste, she nearly forgot to grab her set of house-keys, just in case Skip decided to lock the house for once. In the garage, she laid her skateboard across the handlebars, then climbed barefoot onto her old, dirty, mostly-broken bicycle and pedaled down the street in the general direction of the beach, toward Bret's apartment with her bag bulging at her side.

* * *

She stowed the rickety, old bike under the first set of stairs. It was one of those outside apartments, and she had to climb up four decks to get to his door, apartment 483. After she'd ascended, she took a few moments to collect herself and take some breaths before knocking as lightly as she could. She didn't dare wake anyone else before 9 o'clock, not in this neighborhood. A confused Bret opened the door, messily clothed in an old t-shirt and jeans, his hair a crazy mess that stuck out in all directions.

"Bella? What're you doing here? You're supposed to be... uh, can you hold on a second?!" He yelped, closing the door on her without inviting her inside.

She sighed and rested her forehead on the siding of the apartment complex, next to his front door. The cool vinyl felt nice against her skin, even if the wall was pretty dirty. Her head was still pounding terribly from her headache when he re-opened the door and motioned her inside.

"What was that for? Never mind, I don't care right now... can I ask you a big favour?" She looked slightly hurt, he could see it hiding behind her eyes.

"I guess, shoot," he drawled, furrowing his brow and pinching the bridge of his nose at the super-bright light of the sun blasting him in the face thorough the curtains behind the couch, as he sat in a backwards kitchen chair facing her.

Flopping down unceremoniously onto his old yet comfortable couch and dropping her bag to the floor, she asked, "Bret, can I stay with you a while? I can't stand living with Skip right now. I know we haven't known each other long, but... they shut the hot water off this morning - we're two months behind on the electric bill, and I expect they'll cut that off soon, too - I don't want to burden Jay and Mom, but I really just need somewhere to crash for a bit. You'll hardly notice me... do you mind?"

"You can stay as long as you need; but, running away from your problems won't help, darling. Do you want something to eat? I have toast," he offered, standing from his hair and leaning down for a one-armed hug.

"No, that's okay, all I really need is some aspirin and a shower... can you help with that?" She looked downright haggard now as she stood herself and brushed off some imaginary dust from her top.

"No problem. Bathroom's in there... sorry, it's not so nice," he said, guiding her toward a small, avocado-green-tiled bathroom with his hand on her back. A black and calico cat perched on the closed toilet seat.

"Oh, by the way, that's just Xochitl, she loves water. I caught her a few weeks ago back in the alley with a can tied to her tail. You don't mind cats, d'you?" He looked uneasy for a second, as if not expecting Jezebel to take lightly to cats.

"Oh no, I love cats," she said as she reached out to scritch Xochitl comfortably between the ears, then turned to set her bag on the ground, emptying its contents onto the bathroom floor. She placed her toothbrush, hairbrush, and makeup on the sink counter, leaving everything else strewn across the floor as she closed the door, turned the water on, and jumped in the nice, warm, clean shower. The cat lazed on the back of the toilet, content to hang out in the steam that filled the room as Jez reveled in the calming, beautiful goodness that was unencumbered hot water.

Bret paced around his small living room, birthday gifts for Jez sitting on the couch in front of him. He wrapped the tapestry and door beads in newspaper, serving as makeshift wrapping paper. The tiger sat dumbly on the middle cushion, staring at him. To say he was slightly uncomfortable would be an understatement, as he stood in the middle of the apartment absolutely dumbfounded as to what he should do now.

Jezebel stepped out of the shower and opened the bathroom cabinet. She took a bottle of aspirin and popped four into her mouth; the bottle said only 1 to 2, but she always took more. She unceremoniously grabbed a black halter top out of the pile of stuff on the floor and slid that on, choosing high-waisted, acid-yellow, large-belled pants to go with it. She wrapped a silver belt around her waist comprised of a series of large circles, pulled on her floppy combat boots, smothered her eyes with heavy, black eyeliner, and brushed her unruly hair, taming it as much as could be expected. She brushed her teeth and smooshed all her possessions back into the bag, spraying herself with one of Skip's old colognes she'd stolen on her way out of the house before she exited.

Bret stood outside; he'd changed into a clean, white t-shirt with a beat-up, dark-blue blazer over it, wearing the same light pair of jeans in which he'd slept. He planned on doing laundry this morning at the laundromat, but was determined to devote his day to Jezebel. He even put his hair into his signature Mohawk and applied some eyeliner he'd bought at the store yesterday. She wondered what the special occasion was; then, she remembered she was turning 15 today. It was her birthday, and she'd completely forgotten.

"You were born on this day, July 12, 1962, at 3:35 AM, in Manhattan, New York; your mother named you Jezebel, because she knew you'd be a beautiful rebel. On January 16, 1965, she dropped you at Skip Engblom's, your father. And in May 1976, I met you at a _Sex Pistols_ concert. You were beautiful, and you tapped me on the shoulder and started talking; we exchanged phone numbers. Today is July 12, 1976, and you are 15 years old. I know so many things about you, but there's 1 question I've wanted to ask a few months now: I was wondering if you'd go out with me." He looked hopeful, leading her to the couch. He sat on the left side and motioned her to take a seat opposite him; he took her hands in his own. Her mouth flopped open and closed like a fish a few times, rendered speechless.

"Ah... uh... I... okay," she fumbled uncertainly, eyes sparkling. She was close to speechless as she hopped across the couch and kissed him on the cheek, hugging him tightly around the middle.

"These are for you," he mumbled into her hair as she pressed herself against him. A huge smile plastered itself across his face, but wasn't noticeable because Jezebel was still pressed against him.

"I'm in a much better mood now... so, I guess I should apologize to Skip for storming out... but, I really don't want to live with him. Do you think I can still crash here for a while?" She looked up, releasing her grip.

"Stay as long as you want, babe," he answered, rubbing her back. "You want to open your gifts?"

He was grinning broadly, not unlike a child on Christmas morning. "Well, actually this one's already open," he motioned to the stuffed tiger.

"Yes, it is. I love it so much!" She replied, squeezing the large toy in both arms. She placed it back on the couch, reaching for the other two gifts.

* * *

Jezebel and Bret walked into the Zephyr storefront hand-in-hand, and she walked straight through to the breakroom. She smelled the heavy scent of pot, but thought nothing of it; it was a continuous smell these days. Skip sat in the back room with one of the guys who worked for the shop, smoking a joint and listening to the radio. The other guy, who she called Uncle Chino even though he was an ass sometimes, was making fun of Sid as usual, who swept the floor half-heartedly. He didn't really do much, and it just got worse again anyway; Skip could never tell the difference between clean and dirty.

"Skip, I'm sorry I screamed at you… 'n stormed out of the house, an' shit. I just can't take living with you anymore. I'm gonna stay with Bret a while. Dude, get your shit together. You really need to pay the water bill, and the electricity," she reminded; she thought back to earlier when she couldn't help but feel like the parent.

"Oooh, yer kid's ribbin' ya, huh Skipper?" Montoya, the guy who was sitting with Skip, teased with a laugh hidden in his question.

"Well, y'are my kid after all. Wouldn't expect nothing less. And don't worry about it, baby-doll – yer old man's got it all under control. You worry about your birthday today." Skip ignored Montoya's ribbing and didn't seem to understand he'd be living completely primitive pretty soon, if not in the shop office itself, if he didn't pay some bills.

"Sure, Skip. Whatever; never mind," she acquiesced as she turned to go.

"Hey, Jez, wait." He stopped her with his words. "Pick out a board; for your birthday. I'm kinda tight on cash right now."

"No, shit," She mumbled under her breath, simultaneously rolling her eyes at the lame excuse. On the way out of the shop, she grabbed a plain, black surfboard from the display stand in the front window, pulling it out the door along with herself and Bret.

"So, uh, what did you wanna do today, Bella?" Bret asked once they were outside and headed back toward his apartment.

"I thought I'd look into getting my learner's permit - y'know, so I can get my license to drive eventually. It'd be great to drive Skip's old truck around, _legally,_ instead of walking or biking or skating. Lord knows he don't hardly use it," Jezebel answered.

She wanted to work toward getting her license for a while; the act represented freedom, not being tied down in one place. Skip tried to teach her to drive a little earlier that year, but most of what she knew she'd learned from Stacy, who had his own car, lots of patience, and was not often drunk.

"Euhm... where does that happen, again?" Bret asked, pulling uncertainly on his left earlobe; he still didn't have his license, and he couldn't afford a car, either, so it didn't really matter.

"At the DMV. Unfortunately, it's downtown. Wanna come? I've only got the bike... it's got pegs, though. There's no way I'm skateboarding my ass all the way down there." Jezebel smiled to herself at the thought of Bret on the back of a manual bicycle with his huge Mohawk and leather jacket.

Jezebel pulled a large, black sweatshirt out of her overstuffed bag and slipped it over her head. "We gotta go back home to get it, though."

"I guess," he answered simply.

After a 15-minute fanfare including the pair traversing the few streets between the shop and Skip's house, the old bicycle in question wobbled along, Bret on the back pegs, Jezebel pedaling away as quickly as she could. It felt awkward riding a single-person bike in tandem, squished against someone you'd only just begun dating, but he quickly forgot his unease due to Jez's erratic pedaling. Bret had a mildly-horrified expression on his face as the pair sped along, whilst Jezebel grinned a wide, Cheshire cat-like grin. The DMV was a small, dingy building smack in the middle of town, right next to a seedy sandwich shop, the kind that wasn't uncommon in mid-town. Jezebel locked the bike around a lamppost, which she was amazed still stood. The front desk was occupied by an ancient-looking woman, and the line was very short; nevertheless, she tapped her foot impatiently. The line moved quickly, and the lady behind the desk peered at her through squinting eyes; Jezebel guessed her vision was failing.

"How old are you, dear?" The woman asked, a slight superiority overtaking her tone.

"I'm 15 today, thank-you-very-much. I just want to register for my learner's license; can we get this over with?" Jezebel snapped back in a rude voice. The receptionist pulled out a giant heap of paperwork, as well as a paper copy of the pre-driving test, which Jezebel eyed warily, adding an overly-dramatic sigh.

"Take these documents home and have them signed by a legal parent or guardian. You will not be allowed to drive without a licensed driver in the front seat until you are 16 years of age and have passed your official driving test. Happy learning."

"That was madness. Pure, utter madness," Jezebel complained as she sped along back to Zephyr with a sour attitude, the necessary papers shoved into her back pocket, her mood just one of the many side-effects from their trip to the DMV. And, worse, she had to get _more_ 'authorized signatures' from daddy-dearest, with whom she wasn't exactly thrilled at this point in time.

She flung open the shop door with gusto and almost sent a Z-boy sprawling; he was leaning casually against it, but caught himself before he crashed to the ground and got trampled. It was Nathan Pratt, to whom Jezebel referred as 'the Brat', and who stuck out his tongue at her as she made fun of him for having been leaning against a door. She heard some whispering and giggling coming from the back room. A blonde head popped slyly around the doorframe, hoping to be inconspicuous; the boy leaning against the door had been the lookout for the past hour, and he bolted across the room, shoving the blonde head back inside.

"What the-" Jezebel began, pulling Bret's hand.

When she reached the small breakroom in the back, a mass of blonde heads popped up seemingly out of nowhere, with some other hair colours sprinkled throughout; they were all crowded around a tan-bodied, second-hand, acoustic guitar. Jezebel had played guitar since she was 9, though she'd never owned one herself. She'd been in band in school every single year since age ten, which did not require her to produce her own instruments. Stacy stepped forward, followed by Shogo and Peggy.

"It's for you," Stacy said simply, grinning expectantly from ear to ear.

"We all went in on it..." Peggy added, moving slightly closer to Stacy.

"We knew ya played since a lil' kid. Now ya got yer own." Shogo gestured toward the instrument.

"Go on, pick it up. Play something," Jay's voice inexplicably popped up next to her ear, where he'd weaseled through the mob crowded into the small space. Jezebel reached for the neck of the guitar; Bret handed her the strap. She asked, "Did you know about this?"

"Yeah..." Bret nodded sheepishly, wiping sweat from his forehead as he helped her place the strap over her right shoulder.

She strummed the first few notes of 'Iron Man' just as Wentzle ran in from outside.

"I got the picks guys, she here yet?" He skidded comically to a halt, nearly knocking Jezebel off her feet. His face turned an embarrassing shade of puce.

"Heh-heh... hey babe… I see you... discovered your present. Here's some picks so your fingers don't bleed much!" He chuckled, dropping five small triangles into her palm.

"Gee, thanks…" Jezebel stuck all the picks into her pocket, except one. This one was old and sort of worn, but just felt _right_ in her fingers as she grasped it, pulling it over the strings. She played a few chords of a song she used to play in school.

* * *

A second surprise of the day shook the small storefront. "Hello?" A feminine voice shouted from the front of the shop. "Anybody home? Knock, knock."

Jezebel handed the guitar to Jay, who was closest, and casually walked out front.

"Uh, hi, we're closed…" she said cautiously, sounding much like Skip in that moment. "Can I help you... ma'am?" She tacked on a term of authority, on occasion of her birthday, eyeing the woman up and down.

"Looking for Jezebel Engblom... I assume her name's Engblom now. Know where I can find 'er? Or Skip'd work." The woman had long, brunette hair and green eyes; she was only a few inches taller than Jezebel.

"...that's me, I'm Jezebel. What of it?" Jezebel asked suspiciously, crossing her arms out of habit. Bret walked out of the back room and put a hand on Jezebel's shoulder for support.

"I'm Lita Ingersoll, your ma. God, you look nothin' like I remember," the woman responded breezily.

Jezebel almost lost her balance from shock; Bret caught her around the middle and stood her back up. She leaned against him for both physical and mental support, as he clasped his hands around her stomach. She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. Skip never talked about her mother; he only told her she'd abandoned Jezebel when she was three. Now, she was just going to waltz back in again?

"Okay, what's this about? And what d'you mean coming here and suddenly announcing this?" Bret could no longer restrain himself while this woman, who claimed to be Jezebel's mother waltzed into his girlfriend's life and tore it down with a few choice words.

"Just came to say, 'Happy Birthday' to my little girl, is all," her mother pouted, trying to sound sympathetic.

"That's bullshit, Lita. What do you need? Money, what? Why're you showing up now, after all this time? I'm 15! I lived without you this long, never knowing who you were; I couldn't even remember what you looked like." Jezebel's eyes were beginning to water; she roughly pushed the welling tears back with her mind.

"Ok, Jezebel Lola Ingersoll, or Engblom, or whatever your name is – there's something I need… 'n you're the only one to help..." Lita began.

Whatever it was, Jezebel was certain it would not be something she could just let go when all was said and done. She had a sneaking, sick feeling about this whole terrible situation. For all the ups in her day, it certainly had an awful amount of downs, and this one was proving to be more painful than any of the physical downs she'd endured thus far.

* * *

 **A/N** : Pronounce Xochitl 'So-chee(l)'.


	6. All of My Memories

(Disclaimer: I don't own LoDt or song lyrics. Written for Dahlia Faith Black and for Becky, who motivated to keep this going as long as I did.)

" _Now you're gone, now you're gone;  
_ _There you go, there you go,  
_ _Somewhere I can't bring you back.  
_ _Now you're gone, now you're gone,  
_ _There you go, there you go;  
_ _Somewhere, you're not coming back."_

 _\- Slipped Away_ by Avril Lavigne

 _Chapter 6: All of My Memories_

 _Three-year-old Jezebel squirmed out of Skip's arms and sprinted down the sidewalk after her mother's car as fast as her fat, little legs would carry her. Lava-hot tears streamed down her face, and she screamed "Mama" over and over until her voice died; she was ignored and, as she could no longer run, her mother's car disappeared further and further down the street. She tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and crashed to the ground, tiny pebbles scraping against her hands and knees. In reality, she had only gone one block, but to her, she had run miles and miles chasing after that car as her mother abandoned her with someone she didn't know. She sat down on the curb, sobbing with her face in her dirty, scraped hands; a boy of about six years sat down next to her. He had a mass of slightly-curly, strawberry-blonde hair just past his ears, and soft eyes; he was awkwardly-tall for a six-year-old._

" _What's wrong? Don't cry! It's okay!" He said, pulling gently at the ends of her wavy, blonde hair which curled in baby-wisps around her cheeks and chin. He side-hugged the small child tightly, patting her back with sympathy._

" _Who- who you?" Jezebel sniffled as the tears stopped pouring from her eyes; she looked up boy who was hugging her._

" _I'm Jimmy; my mom calls me 'Boo'. You can call me Boo, too, if you want! What's your name? Why are you crying? I hate when girls cry..." the boy wrinkled his nose slightly and pulled back._

" _Je-ze-bel, eve-one call me Bella. I get a owie… I not cry!" She paused to wipe her eyes again with her slightly-bloody palms, smearing dirt on her face. "M…mama left. With daddy I nev'r met afore. Be my fwend?" Jezebel's eyes shone with tears._

 _At this point, Skip walked calmly over to Jezebel and picked her up._

" _Come on, Li'l Bit."_

" _Bye-bye!" Jezebel waved to her new friend sadly._

" _I'll be your friend, Bella!" Jim shouted as Skip carried her away; he turned and ran down the street. Jezebel didn't know Jim was a friend of the boy whom she would come to know as her best friend, her unspoken brother._

* * *

Jezebel stood inside Zephyr, leaning against Bret; she stared at her mother, who leaned against the front of the counter, using it to hold her frail frame upright.

"Okay, you wanna know why I'm here? I want support from Daddy Dearest. After all, you're mine - I birthed you," her mother spat rabidly, and Jezebel could sense evil in Lita's voice, though she let Bret speak for her.

"Wait a second," he fumed, as Skip stood in the front-corner of the store behind the counter with his arms crossed in silent surveillance of this whole situation unfolding before him. "You dumped your _only_ daughter here 12 years ago, and _now_ you want child support? You _gotta_ to be kidding me, lady!" Bret practically screamed, red creeping up his face in ire as his arms tightened protectively around the shorter girl.

All this time, Jezebel stared directly at her mother's eyes. They were light-blue with a gray tinge, like hers, and very bloodshot. They sunk back into her skull, and her pupils dilated; she shook slightly as she stood, fiddling with her scarred hands. Her fingers were covered with open wounds and burn-marks. Jezebel removed herself from Bret's grasp and stepped forward, forcefully grabbing her mother's sleeve up to reveal the track marks lacing her arm.

"You _bitch_. You don't want child support, you want _habit_ support! So, _Lita,_ how long you been in this hole? Why pick now of all times to come barging back into my life? On my fucking birthday? How can you call yourself a mother?" Jezebel pinched Bret's arm; he could have sworn her voice spoke in his head, though that was just his imagination.

He backed slowly away to the breakroom, where only Jay and Tony remained. Jay listened intently, fidgeting all over the place, and Tony sat on an overturned bucket with his arms crossed and a scowl plastered across his features.

"Guys, help us out. Lita is here, and she's definitely high on something strong. She's trying to blackmail Skip. Tony, we need muscle… go block the door. I'm gonna call the cops. Don't let her out, no matter what. Jay... make sure Bella's alright?" Both Jay and Tony gave sharp nods and silently walked out of the room; Bret picked up the telephone receiver.

"...baby, listen - I gotta problem and need money. I gotta get to rehab, Bella, that's why I left... I couldn't take care of you, the way I was... I gave you a better life with your dad. I want what's best, baby please, help..." tears began to roll slowly down Lita's face.

Jezebel scoffed audibly and watched her mother blubber with disgust as Jay and Tony emerged from the back room out of the corner of her eye; Tony walked over to the door, locking it before leaning casually against it and trying to make himself appear bigger. Meanwhile, Jay appeared by her side, leaning his chin against one of her shoulders and reassuringly wrapping his arm around her.

Bret stood in the back room, speaking to the 911 operator. "911, what's your emergency?"

"Don't call me baby, _mother_. I'm 15," her voice dripped with disdain. "You know my life isn't any better. Do you have _any_ idea what it's like to grow up without a mom? Skip doesn't know anything about makeup, clothes, what's a decent time for a 15-year-old girl to be home at night. He couldn't help with bras, or periods, or explain where babies come from since he's always drunk. He couldn't tell me why 'mama' wasn't around. He can barely even take care of himself, hell I basically take care of him, always have. And you think my life is _better_ this way?" Jay tightened his side-hug protectively as words poured from her like water from a pitcher.

Jezebel's mother stood, awestruck, unable to respond. "There's no way I could know that..." her mother was saying weakly.

"Of _course_ not. Because you can't _think_ about anything but yourself! I want you back out of my life, you bitch. Don't come back, we don't want you. You better not have any drugs on you, because the police are here," Jezebel said, as she watched a police car appear outside the shop.

Everything moved fairly quickly after that. Tony unlocked the door and stepped away from it, and Jay led Jezebel out of the way with his arms wrapped around her as the officer stepped into the shop. Her brain went fuzzy, and a memory came rushing back up at her.

* * *

 _Jezebel sat in the back seat as she watched her mother, who was standing outside the vehicle with a tall, black-haired man. She gave him some money, and he gave her something in return. Her mother got back in the car, waited for the man to turn the corner, and turned the keys in the ignition._

" _Momma, who?" Her mother ignored her._

 _Her hair was stringy; they'd been living in their car the past two weeks. Her mother pulled off the road at a small motel and went inside, leaving her in the car alone, the window rolled down half-way. She felt the breeze float past as she unbuckled her three-year-old self from the seat and moved to the window, curling her fingers around it, and rested her chin against the hot glass._

* * *

She snapped out of her daydream as she was pulled away from Jay and crushed to Bret in a giant, bone-snapping bear hug. Jezebel stared blankly out the door under his arm, her own arms hanging motionless and limp by her sides, watching the cop car pull away with her mother. She made no effort to hug back; her body crumpled against him, and Bret supported her weight against his.

"Take me home." The words came out in a nearly-inaudible whisper, and Bret had to listen very closely to hear.

"'Course." He scooped her up into his arms like a child and carried her out the front door.

Jay watched Bret carry Jezebel away. They'd forgotten her gift; he walked into the breakroom and picked it up, strumming some of the strings nonsensically before slinging the strap across his chest and the instrument over his back. He was going to deliver it; he could still see them a ways down the road. Jay grabbed his skateboard and went after them, and Jezebel managed to raise her head above Bret's shoulder with slight difficulty. She could hear the grinding of wheels on cement; she watched Jay speed toward them, guitar slung over his back. She remembered once, back when they she was about nine.

* * *

 _They sat side-by-side on the sand; they'd both snuck out of the house. It was well after 9 o' clock, past bedtime for most kids. Honestly, it wasn't really that hard to do, when you thought about it. Jezebel's window was nearly ground-level and Jay would wriggle out of his window onto the roof, not that he needed to – his mother was pretty mellow. He had a mini-bottle of booze that he'd just finished off. Another lay next to them, empty. The sand was cool beneath them, the sun long-set. Jay, who was eleven at the time, turned to Jezebel._

" _Bella, can we try somethin'?" He asked._

" _Like?" She looked over at him, tossing some sand onto his bare legs and jean shorts with a giggle. He paused to throw sand back at her, and it landed on her shirt._

" _Wanna kiss you," he stated bluntly, suddenly inches away from her face, his hands on either side of her on the sandy ground. She could never figure out how he got in these positions so quickly and without her noticing._

"Why _? You're my brother…" She scrunched up her face._

" _Not really, though… and because I want to, it's what you're supposed to do when you like someone." He looked down at the sand, moving to brush some off her shirt, still leaning over her._

" _Okay… how? I only seen in movies," she replied honestly, unsure._

" _Like this." He awkwardly grabbed her face, pursed his lips, and pushed them onto hers in a quick peck, then moved away._

" _Wow, okay that's weird... my tummy is all fluttery. Can we do it again?" Jezebel coughed a bit, then stared right back at him._

" _Yeah. Slower, though." He moved back toward her again, then added, "and don't slobber on me this time."_

" _Slobber on you_? You _kissed_ me _!" She crossed her arms indignantly over her chest._

" _Oh, shut up." He moved toward her again, only slower, gently pushing her crossed arms apart._

 _He didn't grab her face this time, but only leaned in and kissed her softly, letting his lips linger a moment. Jezebel sighed and flopped down onto her back; Jay lay down next to her, staring up at the stars._

" _You're good at that," Jezebel said with finality, pushing her sun-bleached hair out of her face. Jay rolled onto his side._

" _You really think so?" He questioned._

" _Yes. I like it, we should do it more," she replied, looking out over the ocean as she sidled closer and leaned her head onto his shoulder._

* * *

Jezebel woke and sat up a few moments after Bret placed her on the couch in his apartment; a few moments later, Jay appeared in the open doorway, guitar in one hand, skateboard in the other. "Forgot your gift. Sorry 'bout your mom, coulda been any of us," he said, propping the instrument up at the other end of the couch; he sank down beside her and patted her reassuringly on the back. Bret reappeared from the kitchen, glasses of something in his hands.

"Hey, Jay," he greeted, then turned to Jez and handed her a drink. "Thought you could use this. You okay?"

"Alright, I guess… that was just so fucking hard," Jezebel replied. Jay broke away and walked to the window. Jez took a large gulp of whatever was in her cup, and almost spluttered it right back out as it burned her throat. And then she started to laugh. "Ahh, whiskey… the water of California. The drought and all. Thanks for that," she said, grinning at him as he sat in a chair across from her. She reached her foot out and kicked him lightheartedly in the leg, laughing harder.

"Ooph! You think that's funny, do you?" He asked, faking a stern tone as he stood from his chair, set both their drinks safely on the side-table, and leaned down to press their lips together.

"Oh!" Jezebel exclaimed, slightly-shocked, bringing both hands to rest gingerly on his face. Bret's arms found her sides and he began tickling her, lips still attached and keeping her from giggling aloud. She grabbed him and pulled him down on top of her. He stopped tickling and rested his head in the crook of her neck.

"I figured we needed some lightening up... this day got so serious, so fast," he said into her neck, muffled slightly. "Happy birthday, babe." Jezebel sat up suddenly, remembering Jay had dropped by just to see the front door swing swiftly closed. Her mouth popped open and she started toward the door, but then thought twice. She was completely oblivious as to why he stormed out, just because she and Bret had kissed… but there it was. Bret and she had kissed.

She moved the curtain over the window just in time to see Jay disappear at the bottom of the stairs in a flash of blonde. "Great…" she mumbled.

She walked back over to Bret and settled on the couch. "Does this mean we're dating now?"

"Do you want it to mean we're dating now?" He asked.

"Hmm. Yes, I do."

"Good. I want it to mean that, too," he responded, kissing her again.

* * *

Most of the following week passed. Jezebel mostly spent time at the apartment or at Peggy's house, where her mother basically treated her like Peggy's younger sister. They would surf every morning, bright and early, but not at the Cove. Tony, Stacy, Sid, and even Red Dog, who had gotten over his initial protectiveness over Jezebel, visited Bret's apartment occasionally, but no one could seem to get her out of the funk into which she seemed to have fallen. In reality, this was just another cycle she went through with her eating disorder and depression, but no one else knew except Jay. And that was only because she told him everything; he probably knew her better than she knew herself. Skip called every couple of days to check in with his kid; he wasn't heartless, he really did love her, but just didn't know how to deal with a teenage daughter. He'd never learned to braid hair, talk about boys, or pick out dresses when they went shopping, and he always suggested items in which she could be active, when they weren't getting clothes as hand me downs from the boys' parents or charity shops. So he tried to show his love in other ways, like checking in on her frequently and giving her a love of the sports he also enjoyed.

Jay did not visit, and in fact seemed to fall off the face of the earth for a couple days at a time. He'd appeared mid-week to skate practice, but not much more, and no one had any idea what he'd gotten himself into. Jezebel had been slightly angered by this sudden disappearance and change in attitude, as he was usually understanding. He'd sometimes help her process emotions by talking her through them, or alternatively distracting her by doing something outrageous; now, he was being weird.

On Thursday evening, the phone rang in the kitchen, and Bret answered. "Hullo?"

Skip was on the other end of the line. "Yeah, uh, hi… Bret, canya bring my girl up to Zephyr? I kinda got somethin' goin' on here at the shop and she should be here."

There was a long pause as Bret pondered the distance between his apartment and the shop. It wasn't really far, but he didn't think Jezebel would be up for a long walk, or even skating. And he sure as hell didn't want to negotiate with that rickety, old bike. It was unseasonably cool this afternoon; it wasn't uncomfortable out, but there was a definite chill. He hesitated a moment before answering, "Sure, Skip… can you send somebody by though, someone with a car maybe?"

"Hold on…" there was static on the line while Skip put his hand over the receiver, and Bret could hear him hollering, muffled, to someone else in the background.  
Uh, yeah, look fer the yellow Le Baron…five minutes."

"Got it. We'll be here."

After a ten-minute wait, due to atrocious afternoon traffic, the car appeared in the parking lot. Bret spotted it, gesturing Jezebel to follow him with a tug on her shirtsleeve. "C'mon."

When they landed at the bottom of the stairs, Stacy was opening the drivers' side door and climbing out. "What is this?" She asked as she approached the car and Stacy walked in long strides around the other side to open the door.

"Skip's got some kinda announcement. Something team-related, I think?" Stacy answered cryptically as Jezebel slid into the front seat and Bret opened the back door to climb in as well.

"Great, so we're all here. Let's go!" The blonde boy announced awkwardly.

Jezebel shook her head at him, a small smile playing across her lips. Stacy drove away, and Jez turned her head to look at him. "Stacy?" She questioned, pausing.

"What's up, Bel?" He answered conversationally, keeping his eyes safely on the road. Bret sat in the back seat, looking back and forth between the awkward friends.

"You heard from Jay at all this week? I'm kinda pissed he seems like he's been avoiding me…" she turned to look out the window. They were quickly coming upon the shop, and she knew it. Stacy pulled his car to a stop in front of Zephyr, but didn't turn it off. The melancholy sounds of ' _Tuesday's Gone_ ' were pulling to a close.

" _Tuesday's gone with the wind; Tuesday's gone with the wind. Tuesday's gone with the wind; my baby's gone, with the wind_ …" Ronnie Van Zant's whiny voice drifted through the car as Stacy continued to hesitate.

"Peralta, tell me," she pushed, crossing her arms.

"He's avoiding everyone, pretty much. I saw him yesterday though - last night, actually," Stacy confessed.

"And…?" Another pause, in which Jezebel physically reached over and tugged on a shorter piece of his long hair. "Dude. Fucking tell me. I can take it," she answered. Jay was just her older brother, her best friend, nothing more.

"Jay-and-Tony's-sister-Kathy-were-together-last-night-at-Tony's-party," Stacy answered in one long breath.

"…Kathy? Jay? Stacy, what are you talking about - Kathy is _your_ girlfriend…" she trailed, dumbfounded.

"Apparently not anymore," he answered sullenly. "He gave me some bullshit about how I couldn't ' _handle_ ' her, like she's some kind of… untamable, wild animal. Like what the fuck is that?"

Jezebel patted Stacy's shoulder, trying to be understanding. "That's brutal, man, I'm sorry," Bret answered for Jezebel from the back seat, reaching his hand around to the front to put on Stacy's shoulder. Stacy glanced down at Bret's multiple rings he was wearing. "It's fine, I guess. Whatever," he answered, opening his door. The music shut off as they all piled out and entered Zephyr expectantly.

Jezebel looked around at the assemblage of friends and wondered what the hell her father had planned. Everyone gathered in the storefront, and Skip moved to lock the door and flip the sign to 'closed'.


	7. Don't You Float Away

_(_ Disc.: I don't own LoD or song lyrics. Also I don't know anything about surfing cuz I'm dumb, haha. That's why there's like no terminology in this story.)

" _And if you'd like, and if you'd like, some other time,  
_ _I would like to introduce you to the finer things.  
_ _If we survive, if we survive, get out alive,  
_ _I'd like to say how beautiful I think you..._

 _Just keep a hold on me, don't let go;  
_ _If you float away, if you float away.  
_ _Waited too long for a ship to come,  
_ _Don't you float away, don't you float away."_

 _-Island,_ Starting Line

 _Chapter 7: Don't You Float Away_

"I've gathered you all here today…" Skip began before being interrupted. "…to announce the marriage of your first-born and only daughter?" Biniak piped up, and someone pelted him in the head with their hands as he shouted, "hey, watch it, watch the hair!"

"No, you jerk-off, to tell you boneheads I signed up Jez fer a surf comp, and I want _all_ you bozos to come do promo for our new boards," he finished, adding a snide " _dumbass"_ to the end as an afterthought.

"It's on Saturday," Montoya announced, beginning to pass out a limited number of flyers as well as some stickers to everyone.

"Skip, ya did _what_?" Jezebel exclaimed, all the colour flushing from her face.

"Yah man, how come she gets to do that and we gotta work?!" Wentzle added, reaching over to shove Jezebel lightly but in a playful manner. "Neat!" said Sid, clapping his hands a couple times before stopping awkwardly when he noticed no one doing the same.

"Skip, this is so unfair, you know I'm so better than her!" Tony shrieked, frowning. Even though he tended to coach Jezebel at the Cove, he certainly wasn't happy she'd get an opportunity over him, when he was older.

"Tony, you idiot, it's an _all-women's meet_ , I don't think you have the right equipment this time around. Says right here on the flyer. Cap your ego, dude!" Peggy shouted, smacking him on the back.

Skip added, "She's right. Pegs, as you know, you're entered too. Yer in a higher category than Jez, obviously."

"Course I'm fucking right," Peggy confirmed confidently with a smirk.

"Yo, we should totally measure Alva's head now, so we can see how big it swells when he gets famous. The dude is _always_ on," came a voice from the back room. Jay stepped out of the breakroom; he'd let himself in through the window in that room and now stood in the doorway.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence," Sid snapped uncharacteristically, then shrunk away as Jay advanced toward him acting like he was going to hit him, sliding right by instead.

"So what's this big announcement you got?" Jay asked, standing off to the side with his skateboard under one arm.

"You missed it, jackass. Me n' Peg're gonna be in an all-girls' surf comp. 'M gonna win my category," Jezebel spoke, standing quickly and walking over to him. "Where the hell ya been, punk?"

The energy between the two felt super-charged as she stood nose-to-nose with him, invading his personal space as he usually did to her.

"I been around," he answered, looking away from her.

"Yeah, he's been around, fucking Tony's sister!" Red Dog shouted, starting to laugh.

Jay shot him a warning glare and glanced at Stacy, who was scowling, visibly pissed again. Tony audibly growled at both, obviously displeased with the whole ordeal. "Break up yer little pissin' match boys, 'n get outta my shop!" Skip shouted, not before adding, "be here at 10 Saturday to load in!"

"I gotta go to work," Stacy stated to no one in particular, walking for the door with his keys in-hand and a perpetual frown on his face. Most of the team scrambled for the door after him, all except a few key people.

Jay and Tony stayed, as well as Jezebel and Bret. The other party to join them was Sid. Bret and Sid stood off to one side; Tony lounged on his side, his body stretched across the entire surface of the front counter. Skip flipped the sign on the door to 'open' and unlocked it, disappearing into the back. Everyone gave Jezebel and Jay their space as they carried out a battle of wills, staring at each other intently, unflinchingly, unblinking with barely six inches between them.

"You messing with my friend now? And how could you do that to Stacy, you're such an ass sometimes. Friends don't screw over friends. And friends don't screw their friends' girlfriends, either – not cool. I don't understand you, at all." She stepped backward a half-step, hands on her hips. She and Kathy weren't best friends, but they were friendly enough toward each other. Girls had to stick together in this neighborhood, lest they be completely overrun by boys. "Stacy'll get over it. Kath don't wanna date 'im anymore, they're too different. He doesn't spend time with 'er," Jay answered quite callously.

"Oh, that so? Why you avoiding me then, huh? Dumbass, thought you were supposed to be my bro and take care of me… that's what your mom said…" she dropped her arms, arriving at the real heart of the matter.

Jay scoffed audibly at her but said nothing. Moments elapsed between them, silent and motionless. Finally, he answered suddenly by grabbing her shoulders and pulling them together, putting their foreheads against each other. "You _are_ my sis, Bella." He pulled her in for a hug, and Bret stepped forward slightly.

"But you don't need me to take care of ya anymore. Ya got your boy, Bret," Jay answered, releasing her and stepping back. He nudged her in the ginger-haired boy's direction and she walked over near him. It wasn't a lie; it wasn't exactly the reason he'd pulled away, either, but it wasn't a lie. Of course, he wasn't going to announce he was in love with her, not in front of Bret when he had similar feelings but got to her first. He'd just been in the right place at the right time when he'd been at that concert. He would let them chalk it up to general, 16-year-old moodiness.

"You started hanging with him, a lot, and I got… jealous. I swear, 'm good now. Let's go back to normal?" He asked, outstretching his hand to her. She pushed his hand closed into a fist, then bumped his knuckles. They both brought their hands apart in an 'exploding' motion and made 'fwah' noises with their mouths as they did, in their signature greeting.

"Man, what you did to Stacy was shitty, though," she answered, punching him in the shoulder.

"Yeah well, nice guys finish last, right?" Jay asked rhetorically and ducked as she swatted at his face.

"You'll never change," Jezebel challenged, giggling at the maneuvers to which he was going to avoid her flying hands. They were okay now, at least for the time-being.

"Nope!" Jay shouted.

"Y'all meet me down at the cove, I gotta get ripping. Gotta get in an extra practice now I'm taking over Tony's position as 'top female surfer'," Jezebel laughed hysterically, emphasising her words with air quotes and laughing harder as Tony tossed the finger at her from his perch atop the counter, where he was now sitting up.

"Chyeah, let's go get wet," he added, jumping down from the counter. "I gotta show Jez here how bad she's gonna to bomb that comp." He squealed, "'M kidding!" as Jezebel advanced toward him with a mischievous glint in her eye, reaching for a curl to tug, but he ducked out of the way.

"Skip, I'm goin' ta practice! See ya Saturday! Catchya!" She shouted as they walked out the door.

* * *

 _Saturday Competition_

As usual, the three cars they would take to the competition convened at Zephyr at 10 AM Saturday morning - well, close enough, as the last stragglers wandered in around 10:15. The kids all piled into Stacy's car, Skip's truck, and Stecyk's car; Skip offered to let Jezebel drive, but she was too fidgety with energy. She said she'd prefer to ride with Stacy and friends.

"You nervous?" Stacy asked as she sat in the passenger seat of his car, with Bret squished on the other side of her against the door where they shared the seat.

Jay was behind the pair, annoyingly tugging at Jezebel's hair as she swatted at him, then replied, "Nah, excited! I'm gonna cream the girls in my division."

"Sure, you'll be the best one out there _chica_ ," Tony grinned as Jay proceeded to tie a piece of hair each from Jezebel and Bret together in the back of their heads. "Well, except me!"

He was still running with the joke their friends made the past Thursday about him going on to be the 'top female surfer' at the upcoming competition in which he wasn't even competing. "I'm gonna 'cream' more of those girls than you," he quipped, and Jezebel tossed a crude gesture over her head in his general direction.

"Ew, that's disgusting! You're a pig!" Peggy, who was crammed into the center seat, shoved him as he lunged at her with his tongue out.

"Nah, I'm _nasty_. There's a difference," he shot back with wiggling eyebrows, followed by a girlish shriek as Peggy tried to smoosh his face against the glass of the window with her elbow locked fully straight. She relented, but pulled him back into a headlock, messing with his hair. "Heh-hey man, the hair's the money-maker, stop! Ahh!"

"Tony, shut up! God, it's like a dying cat!" Jezebel shot back, turning to look at Stacy, and the portions of her and Bret's hair Jay tied together pulled painfully.

"Shit! Fuck Jay, what'd you do?!" Jez shrieked, reaching back to detangle the hair before attempting to dive over the back of the seat.

Stacy swerved to the right onto the shoulder as her leg brushed past his head, narrowly missing kicking him in the face, and Jezebel landed across everyone's laps in the back seat. The car rocked slightly as Stacy pulled off suddenly whilst Jezebel pretended to choke Jay, who made fake gagging noises and rolled his eyes back into his head with his tongue lolling out.

"Fucking hell guys, you're gunna make me crash this car! God damnit! Get your asses in these seats like normal humans, NOW!" He thundered.

Jezebel had never seen him get this mad, and she hung her head, smothering a giggle with her hand. Peggy removed herself from underneath Jez's legs and slid over the seat into the front, now sitting between Bret and Stacy, snickering herself. "Yes DAD, geez… holy hell…" Tony interjected as Jezebel plopped herself down between himself and Jay, and Stacy got back onto the road, catching up with their caravan. Stacy shook his head but made no effort to reply to Tony's jibing. He wasn't sure if he wanted to drive this particular crew all the way back home later, or just abandon them at the competition site.

They arrived in Long Beach about 25 minutes later, all three vehicles in a line stuffed full of people, skateboards, order forms, and more. Now, Jezebel was beginning to feel more pressure. Jay clambered out of the car window into the parking lot without opening the door and stretched, his shirt riding up, and a girl walking past winked at him. "Ow, ow!" Tony shouted, his body half-hanging out the car window with his chin resting on his arms, and the girl seemed to wiggle her butt more as she walked away.

Yup, this was going to be ridiculous, she could already tell, rolling her eyes. She watched as Tony rolled the window up, then climbed out and slammed the door behind himself. Most of the Zephyr team began to disseminate in different directions, having been lectured by Skip and Craig on what they were supposed to be doing before their initial departure. Each had a small stack of order forms for both types of boards, and stickers with Zephyr's logo and phone number. They'd been instructed to skate around and bother people to accept one, or both, items. Stacy, Jay, and Tony were just supposed to stand around in their 'Zephyr' shirts, providing moral support to the girls whilst attracting the attention others by standing around holding skateboards. Jezebel wasn't certain whether they'd be chased out of the Long Beach area by a mob burning flaming spits and waving pitchforks, or carried out on everyone' shoulders. Bret was even more nervous for Jezebel than she was herself. He motioned to the left-hand side of the beach, then pointed out, "Looks like there's some sharp rocks out there…"

"Dude, have some faith in your girl! Those are so far off; the girls'd have to be _aiming_ for 'em. They'll be fine!" Tony tried to reassure, which did not at all change Bret's mind on the subject. "Jez. Man. Go out there and beat the other girls' asses," Tony coached, placing his hands on either of Jezebel's shoulders as he gave her a pep-talk in a coach-like way. "And hey, don't screw up," he added light-heartedly with a friendly shoulder-shove.

Next, Jay pulled Jezebel aside. "Bella, yer gonna do great. Go beat your comp, you got this," Jay ruffled her already-large hair as she mentally prepped herself.

Shimmying out of her jeans and one of Bret's button-downs she'd been wearing over her swimsuit, she pulled her wetsuit from her bag and proceeded to climb into it. Normally, she was a board-shorts-and-bikini or a one-piece swimsuit kinda girl, and only wore her wetsuit when the water was cold, but wanted to look as close to professional as possible.

"Thanks Jayboy, I'm gonna try…" she said uneasily as her empty stomach did a backflip. She'd skipped breakfast again; she wouldn't get any smaller or even maintain her light weight if she was eating all the time and trying to compete. Her belly audibly growled.

"We gotta get some cheeseburgers into ya after you win," he smiled and nudged her in the ribs before patting her on the back. She didn't smile in return, and wrinkled her nose at the thought of burgers dripping with grease and smothered in cheese. Nervously, she flipped her head over and gathered all her frizzy, curly hair into a huge, messy mass of a bun on top of her head, folding it over onto itself. Bret gave her a reassuring shoulder rub as she heard her heat number called. The age was 13-to-16, putting her right-smack in the middle of the pack. She was contestant number 68, and she was scheduled to go near the end of the run. Skip wanted her to win, both so she'd get some recognition and so he could grow the shop's bottom line. He was spending a lot of money on new materials and hadn't exactly been paying the shop's bills in-full lately.

"Number 68, Jezebel Engleman is up next," said the announcer and - ah, there were her boys. She grinned as she heard various voices screaming out from the crowd, "it's ENG- _BLOM_!" in near-perfect unison.

A few other contestants giggled, and Jez set her face into a blank stare with a hard-line mouth as she stalked toward the frothy waves with her board tucked under her arm. "Oh, um, ahem, excuse me, _Engblom_ ," the embarrassed man floundered, correcting himself as he cleared his throat.

She turned back and locked eyes with Tony, who pulled a goofy face and motioned her forward. He was challenging her to go harder, like he always did. He could see her potential to be big, even though he'd never admit it to her face. Jay watched his best friend paddle out and prepare for the first wave. The crowd roared in disappointment as she decided to skip this one, waiting for a higher crest. She wanted her run to look challenging, so she had a better chance at winning her division.

"C'm _on_ , that was a perfectly-good wave!" Tony shrieked in dismay, waving his arms wildly above him; he smacked his hand down onto his forehead, tugging on tufts of his hair wildly. Jay just shook his head and chuckled; he knew exactly what she was doing, because he quite often did it himself. They both lived for the challenge. He began to cheer uncharacteristically as she charged forward into the next-rising swell, bigger than the first, chanting her name and starting a call-and-response routine with some of the other boys. It was a perfectly-rounded pipe. His eyes darkened as it didn't look like she was going to make it through the end of the wave; yet, she came flying out the other side just in time, her hand skimming gracefully through the wave as she topped it all off by performing an easy trick as she emerged.

"Shit, I thought she was going down for sure!" Bret shouted at Tony, and Tony gave him a reassuring slap to the back. "Girl knows what she's doing, bro. Relax. Been out there since shortly after she could walk," Tony answered, his own previous bout of worry gone from his mind already. She finished her run and returned to shore.

"A relatively-high score here near the end of the pack from _Engblom_ ," the announcer finished, emphasising his correct pronunciation of the girl's name. "She'll advance to round two."

* * *

It all came down to this tense moment. The round finished, then they'd moved to rounds two and three. Her score soared in round two, beating her initial score, but the third round found her wondering if she'd make it into the top three. This was her second or third serious competition ever, and she really didn't want to bomb it in front of all her friends and family.

"…Engblom? Engblom? _Hellooo_?" The announcer called a third time, and Jay shoved her over; she snapped out of her trance immediately, her mouth wide as she hit the ground and got a mouthful of sand. As she stood and spat the sand out with a grimace, she noticed the announcer motioning her over. "Can we get her up here, please?"

Stacy and Bret appeared beside she and Jay, both ushering her toward the front of the crowd whilst Jay followed behind. She could hear people cheering. Had she made second place? Third? "Babe, you got first!" Bret said right next to her ear, rubbing his knuckles down her side to get her attention.

She'd won?

"I won?" She asked incredulously as she was led toward the stage.

"Yes, you've won top place in your division. Would you like to say anything?" The announcer asked, tipping his microphone toward her.

"Uh… no, I… thank you," she began, a little dizzy as a shirtless, be-hatted Tony ran up onto the stage, grabbing the microphone from the man's hand to shout into it, "Jeff Ho Surfboards 'n Zephyr Productions, come find us in Venice!" before hurdling over the side.

A number of girls screamed as they recognized who he was and he was shooed off. Jez stood between the two other winners from her division. "Congrats," a brunette girl on one side who was younger and much shorter congratulated. She'd been the third-place winner. "You were great," the second-place winner, an older girl on her other side told her, pushing some of her red hair out of her face. "You were so focused - totally thought you were gunna bite it on that first one, but you didn't!"

The girls put their arms across each other's shoulders as the camera flashbulb went off, and Jez spotted Stecyk at the bottom of the stage, snapping many more than one photo of her. He'd gotten some awesome action shots during her each of her runs. They exited the stage and a little boy wandered past. "Hey! Hey, Miss E! Hey, will you please sign my book?!" He asked excitedly, holding out his paper event program.

"Sure, little man! What's your name?" She answered with a chuckle at being called 'Miss E', accepting the Sharpie from him.

"It's Antonio, oh wait write 'Tony'!" The little boy no older than eight grinned gleefully, hopping up and down whilst tossing sand all over the place with his feet. That was when Tony, the Alva version, sidled up to them. "Hey look, it's a mini-me!" He said, high-fiving the kid who also coincidentally had lots of curly, sun-bleached hair.

"WHOA, Tony Alva, awesome! What're you doing at a girl surf comp? Are you two MARRIED?" The little boy blurted, awestruck.

"No!" Tony and Jez shouted at the same time, then devolved into side-clutching hysterics as the boy walked away.

"What's so funny?" Bret asked, cueing in on the conversation after exiting his previous talking streak with Stacy. "Little dude thought I was married to your girl, bro!" Tony continued to laugh heartily, bending over to grab his knees.

"Ah, it was hilarious! He was all, ' _zomg, Tony Alva_!', an' then I thought Tony was gonna shit his pants he was so geeked someone recognized him!" She jostled, bumping shoulders with him and causing him to lose his balance as she spoke in a high-pitched voice, mimicking the little kid. Tony righted himself and then pulled his shirt from his back pocket, removing his hat and putting the shirt on before replacing it.

"YO!" Jay yelled from the sidewalk, holding his skateboard over his head, announcing, "party at my place tonight, to celebrate!"

"Okay bro - alright if I compete now?" Peggy nudged Jezebel's hip with her surfboard; everyone forgot the senior girls' competition hadn't yet occurred.

"YEAH!" Jezebel shouted excitedly, "now you gotta win so we can double-celebrate!" As she shouted, her world began spinning, and the ground came up to meet her.

"Jez? JEZ!" Stacy hollered, first turning around as if expecting to see her standing behind him. When his eyes met with only an empty space, he realised she'd fallen to the ground in a heap. He bent down to check on her, and ended up sitting down on the ground in order to prop her up. "Shit, what's wrong with her?"


	8. Rubber Soul

Disc.: I don't own LoD or song lyrics.)

" _I'm a war of head versus heart,_

 _And it's always this way;_

 _My head is weak, my heart always speaks,_

 _Before I know what it will say."_

- _Crooked Teeth,_ Death Cab for Cutie

 _Chapter 8: Rubber Soul_

"She probably hasn't eaten since yesterday," she heard Jay remark from above her as her eyes opened. He knew it was a nervous ritual she performed; he, of course, also had some knowledge regarding her hidden - and growing - eating disorder.

"Back off, fellas, give 'er some room," Skip moved his arms as if fanning her as a man in a suit approached.

"Excuse me, please let me examine her. Young man, kindly lend me your jacket to place under her head," he requested of Stacy, who unwrapped his jacket from around his hips and did as he was asked. He stood and moved clear of the medic. "Hello, young lady, my name's Frank and I'm a medic. I understand you just won your category, congratulations! I'm going to examine you and figure out what's wrong."

Sid stood not far away holding her trophy, turning it over and over in his hands nervously as he examined it. He squeezed through the crowd to find Bret, who'd wandered off to find a portable toilet. Peggy's heat was taking place, so she was down by the shore waiting with the other competitors. Sid found Bret, quickly explained what happened, and the two spread out to gather the remaining team members. Then, the pair rushed back to the area where the medic checked Jezebel's vital signs. "Everything seems to be in order, all except the fainting. Young lady, it's important to eat at least a balanced snack before engaging in sports! Think of it as fuel for your body. I know it can be hard to eat a large meal when you're nervous, but even a small amount of protein and some fruit can help kick-start you. You'll be okay, you're free to go."

Jezebel was sitting up now, and Bret helped her to her feet. "Let's go get something from the snack-bar," he told her, leading her toward a small outpost that was designed to look like a tiki bar. "Jez, why didn't you tell me you needed to eat this morning?"

She sighed a frustrated sigh. This was killing her winning-high.

"I didn't, I was fine. I can't keep anything down on competition days. Plus eating before a workout makes me feel disgusting," she answered half-truthfully with a sulk, sounding annoyed. Bret shook his head and asked the girl behind the bar for a packet of crackers and some water, handing over a couple crumpled bills. She took the crackers from his hand and slowly began to eat, breaking them into tiny pieces and occasionally sipping some water. She didn't have pockets, or she would've put some of the crackers in there for later. She wanted to smoke, that would help her get hungry so she could continue to pretend she was fine. Wiping her mouth exasperatedly, she said, "I gotta find Jay."

She walked off, leaving Bret standing alone by the snack bar, completely bewildered. He looked after her with confusion, watching her disappear through the crowd. ' _What did I say_?'

Jez knew Jay was holding for her, but always kept it from her til she specifically asked. He spoke sullenly, tipping his head back: "Hey Bit, 'sup? You won, huh."

"Yeah, I did. Come to Skip's truck with me," she asked with a shrug, putting her hand out to him. She was excited she'd won, but not excited she'd almost been discovered, and fainting on top of that had sucked a lot of energy out of her. "You got my stuff, right?"

Jay looked at her wordlessly, his chin raised, squinting his eyes as he surveyed her.

The pair sat in Skip's hot truck with the windows rolled all the way up. Jezebel unzipped her wetsuit and wrapped the arms around her waist, adjusting her plain, black swim top, which was basically an elongated top with a high neck to help glide through the water and a circular opening on the back. Jay offered her the joint he'd just lit. She lowered the massive, wet bun of her hair from her head, letting it loose. They were missing the rest of the festivities, but selfishly didn't care.

As Peggy finished out the final run of her division, winning second place, she was congratulated by the group. She vaguely wondered where her best friend was, but thought little of it as they wrapped up the morning and moved into the early afternoon. She was over the moon with her placement, but something in the back of her mind made her wish Jezebel was more enthusiastic about her having placed. Sure, she was older, but Jez was usually a great sport about letting others know she was happy for them. She, of course, had no idea what had gone down when she was prepping to compete, so had no knowledge of the fainting incident.

Jay and Jez re-joined the group and they split into their respective rides; Jezebel decided to ride back with Skip, Bret, and Chino, crowded together in the rumbling truck. The couple was going to meet up with their friends later that night to celebrate. Stacy, Tony, Jay, and some others had ridden back together to prep for the upcoming party.

The quartet in Skip's truck stopped at a café and Skip made sure to observe Jezebel eating at least some French fries and the tomato and lettuce off her grilled chicken sandwich, along with about two bites of the meat itself. It wasn't great, but it was a start. He'd have to start keeping an eye on her better, and asking her friends to do the same. He knew he wasn't that great at keeping tabs on her, he wanted her to be free, but not so free she killed herself or something else drastic.

 _Nightfall_

"Bro, your hair literally looks like Robert Plant's right now! It's fuckin' hilarious!" Tony bellowed right in Jezebel's ear as she climbed to the top of the staircase. "We should call 'er Robert! Or Plantsy! Ha ha…"

Her hair was still filled with salty brine, having dried whilst riding back from the competition in Skip's truck with all the windows open; the humidity had continued to climb throughout the afternoon as they headed back, resulting in an extremely frizzy, ever-growing mop springing from her once semi-tamed, wavy/curly combination hair. They'd arrived home early afternoon, and Bret had to work an odd shift delivering pizzas from 3 to 11. His job wasn't glamourous, and delivering on his bike was killer on pretty much his entire body, but he didn't want to miss the fun. He would join the party when he got out.

She'd just arrived at Jay's, solo; he was hosting the 'congrats' party for she and Peggy. People spilled out of the apartment complex, dangling their legs over railings and out windows, and one of these was Tony, who had just stepped outside for a moment while waiting for his flavor-of-the-week to show up at the unfamiliar venue.

"Fuck off, _pendejo_ , don't you think I know that?" She retorted with a mischievous grin, shoving his shoulder all the way to the left and causing him to turn sideways slightly, nearly toppling from his perch on the wooden stair rail from the way he was precariously balanced. She was so skinny, she barely moved him.

"Bruh, T.A., I dareya ta ride that rail all the way down on your board!" Another Z-boy challenged with a dorky laugh.

"Nah man, maybe later - I'm raggin' on Skips kid herr!" He practically giggled, giving her a friendly, light shove back, then trying to land light slaps to the sides of her head but failing royally.

"Yeah, and you look like Weird Al every day, what of it?!" She cackled, stepping back whilst simultaneously swatting his hands away from her face.

She paused and glanced down at herself. She appeared a little disheveled, probably due to the fact that she hadn't slept much the night before, and she'd just chain-smoked three of Skip's cigarettes she'd stolen from a pack on the table at home. It wasn't like he would notice. She didn't usually smoke cigarettes, but she was slightly on-edge now and smoking them inexplicably helped calm her. Not to mention the whole competition-winning-fainting thing. Her holey pants were dirty, and she knew she probably had rings of eyeliner smudged around her eyes. Her rumpled t-shirt was getting threadbare and was filled with holes, probably from dropping ashes when she smoked. She shrugged her shoulders, then pushed past the group blocking the entrance and into the small, smoky apartment. She spotted Jay sitting on the couch, and immediately invited herself down on top of him mid-sentence as he was talking to Red Dog.

"Hey, what's shakin' Mean Green?" Red Dog quipped, their conversation forgotten, using a shortening of her well-known nickname which had graced her since childhood: 'Mean Green Punching Machine'. This nickname was the result of her penchant for punching Jay when he 'misbehaved', as she put it, or anyone else who might try to get in her way. "Congrats, by the way."

"Thanks!" She answered brightly. "Not much, Red, you get arrested at all this week?" She answered back jestingly; this was a running joke, as he aspired to hold the record for greatest number of times escaping being picked up by the cops in Dogtown and getting away with whatever it was he'd done.

Jay, slightly uncomfortable, shifted the weight of her bony butt from one leg to another as she sat across him on the couch. She looked at him. "What's eating you?"

"Oh, excuse me, _princess._ Allow me to be your personal throne… what's eatin' me is the fact that you're _not_ eating… and it's seriously startin' to take a toll on me," he motioned down to her body once more. She shrugged it off and shifted herself, crossing one ankle over the other, perched on his lap. Jay groaned in frustration when she didn't vacate the premises right away.

Biniak sat on the floor at the foot of the couch with his knees up, next to Shogo who was passing him a rather fat blunt he'd just rolled. "Nah, Sho, all you gotta say is, 'I'll take a ticket fer', then the movie name. Not 'I'll take a ticket fer to', you don't gotta use the 'to' at the end, bro."

Shogo rolled his eyes in response; everyone was always correcting his shoddy English.

"Bob, you can't even read - why you tryin' to give my boy Sho here English lessons?!" Peggy laughed, collapsing down to roughhouse and shoving him over to lay on top of him. Biniak mumbled something into her hair, which was practically smothering him, and began prodding her in the back with the end of a bic lighter, trying to get her off. He succeeded, and she removed herself from atop him to settle in under his arm and reach for the weed he now held. They weren't an item, but they'd been close a long time; they lived on the same block.

Jez still couldn't get over the fact that mom was nearly always present at the parties Jayboy threw. 'It's like partying with my own mother', she observed as she looked at the other couch where Philaine was sitting with a group of Z-boys surrounding her. One was playing absently with her hair, and she was smiling her dreamy smile with a wine glass in her hand. Jezebel couldn't pinpoint why this felt so strange, as her father attended many a party alongside them, but it was usually at his own place of business. Still, she tried to be on her best behavior whenever she was in the room with Philaine at one of these bashes.

She shifted her weight one final time to sit next to, rather than on top of, Jay, with her legs draped over his lap, another favoured way of sitting since childhood. It was normal for them to be on top of each other in a platonic way, much like a pack of dogs. Even though she was dating Bret, and Jay was somewhat attached to Kathy, they still sat this way on occasion. It was a space issue, really; there were so many places this huge group hung out where minimal space was provided. Jay comfortably laid his arms over her knees, skin resting on skin through the giant holes that were once the knees of her jeans.

"Hey, so, uh, JB… I got some… some stuff we should try, skimmed it outta Skip's stash. Or maybe Chino's, don't remember. But I don't got much… you wanna go in our room and check it out?" She asked, leaning forward to speak quietly to him despite the loud music. She pulled a small bag half-way out of her pants pocket and showed it to him. Jezebel pretty much exclusively referred to Jay's place as 'their house', called his room 'their room', and referred to Philaine as 'our mom', or just 'mom'. She was one of the only adult female figures in Jez's life. Jay felt a little awkward as Jezebel stood from his lap and grabbed his hand, leading him to the bedroom. 'Why does this feel so weird? Is she gonna stay with this Bret guy, or what?' He wondered.

"Bitsy, where'd you get this? Y'know I hate when you get this shit yourself, ya shoulda come to me," he scolded, mostly to get his mind off his spinning brain.

"I already told you, it was Skip's… or Chino's," she repeated, shrugging yet again, already a little buzzed from some drinks she'd grabbed at home before she left. "It's just mescaline, anyway… just another plant. Heard it's good for depression. And lord knows we're all so damn depressed," she answered, pulling him along and followed by a small line of their other friends.

"How d'you even take these?" Peggy asked, holding up a small, green button of the drug.

"Ya put it in your back teeth and chew on it," Jezebel answered, doing so herself. Peggy wrinkled her nose and held it back to Jezebel, but Paul picked it up out of her hand, taking it himself. "You could dissolve it in water, but this is easier. It's a lil' bitter, though."

Tony, who'd done it before, also took one, and Jez handed the last one to Jay. They sat around waiting for the drug to kick in, passing around some joints to make time go by faster.

No more than an hour later, some were starting to feel the effects of the drug kick in more than others. "Maaaan…. all I'm saying is ' _Stairway to Heaven_ ' is the single best piece of music ever created!" Paul was saying loudly, talking directly to Jay's bed pillow which he'd propped up against the headboard as if it were a person.

"Okay, now I know he's tripping… since ' _Won't Get Fooled Again_ ' is obviously the single best piece of music created," Sid countered, a goofy grin spreading across his face. He'd abstained from the heavily-hallucinogenic drug, opting only to smoke the weed that was passed to him.

"Oh my God, Peggy, don't you dare start rambling about fucking stupid Grateful Dead…" Red Dog pleaded, rolling his eyes as he eyed her sitting on the floor against the foot of Jay's bed. He added, "they're the worst."

Peggy rolled her eyes back at him, shaking her head in disagreement as she was passed a joint. "You're wrong, bro."

"Good thing Shogo's not here, then we'd have to fight with 'im over how 'Arlo Guthrie is the greatest thing since sliced bread', too," Tony chortled, ruffling his hair to make it appear even bigger. Having done the drug before, it didn't really affect him as much as the first-timers. "Hey, you hiding more joints in there?" Stacy mused suddenly, sitting up on Jay's bed on one knee with his other foot on the floor as he pretended to paw through Tony's unruly hair without actually touching it.

"Goddamn, why's everyone all up in my hair today!" He exclaimed, batting Stacy away, who just laughed and shoved him forward as he was passed one of the two joints which were being distributed around the room. Stacy took a hit, then passed it to someone else.

"You assholes are all dead wrong, ' _Dark Side of the Moon's_ got summa the best songs ever… lemme play it! Prove all you fuckers wrong…" Jay walked to his casette player and jammed the tape in, jabbing the play button as the first sounds of ' _Any Colour You Like_ ' exploded into the room at highest-volume.

Jezebel, who'd been lying on Jay's floor with her arms over her head, began giggling uncontrollably; at one point, a snort even emanated from her. As she listened to the song, shapes and colours and morphing images began to flash past her vision, like staring at a series of brain-teasing puzzles that were actually optical illusions. She moved her hand over her face, floating it through the air like a bird. "I'm floating," she said before collapsing her hand down to her face, giggling into it. "You guys see the kaleidoscope?"

The song, a rolling instrumental, filled her ears and mind and eyes, and she licked her lips, swearing she could taste it. Her head swam and she moved it back and forth against the carpeting, tangling her blonde locks. She didn't notice the stares garnered from her friends, including Red Dog and Peggy who exchanged a look with each other. Her shirt rode up, and you could see every crevice between her ribs; her stomach was almost concave. She convulsed with laughter again, tugging her shirt back down over her tummy as Jay collapsed onto the floor next to her in a fit of giggles.

She looked over, seemingly studying his face. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment, as she reached out to touch her friend's shoulder. Instead, her hand landed on the side of his face, royally missing its target, and he flipped himself over unceremoniously so he was straddling her hips. The song seamlessly rolled over into ' _Brain Damage_ ', which made Jezebel laugh even harder as Jay leaned down over her, pressing her hands into the carpet with their fingers interlocked. He rested their foreheads together as he often did, breathing the salty, sea smell that lingered in her hair through the heavy odor of pot hanging thickly in the air. Everyone in the room watched them, dumbfounded and unable to speak.

There was a loud 'BANG' as Paul fell off Jay's bed, whacking his elbow on the dresser. "Oh, owwww! Fucking shiiiit!", he howled as Jez and Jay's heads both snapped in his direction, wide-eyed. Jezebel turned her attention back to Jay and gazed at him, her pale blue eyes taking on a far-away look. 'Are we flirting?' Her brain asked confusedly, trying to get a grip on the situation. "Dude, Jay... you should get off her man…" Stacy said finally, tearing his eyes away from Paul, who was now dusting himself off as he sat up on the floor babying his injured elbow.

Jezebel looked up at him expectantly, and he climbed off, releasing her hands. When she sat up to lean against his bed, he leaned in and bumped their noses together, like they did when they were kids playing around. Jezebel began giggling uncontrollably again. She brought her hand in front of her face yet again and waved it back and forth relatively quickly.

"I'm maybe... made out of rubber?" She asked aloud to no one in particular, continuing to flap her hand back and forth vigorously.

"Nah man, you're made-a skin 'n bones 'n guts, chica," Tony answered, and Jez grimaced, "ugh, that is _sooo_ unpoetic; it's disgusting when you say that…"

Jay sat next to her, his left hip pressed to her right, appearing to be pondering something deeply. Stacy and Tony glanced at each other, noting how strange both parties were acting. Tony tilted his face downward slightly and raised his eyebrows as he looked over at Stacy, and Stacy wrinkled his forehead and frowned in response. It was almost as if… these two young friends of theirs weren't in their own respective relationships, but in fact a relationship together. They both silently decided to chalk it up to the drugs, and not mention the incident to neither Kathy nor Bret. 'Do _not_ leave them alone together', Tony mouthed to Stacy as he exited in search of his girl who would never actually show, and Stacy nodded.

Back in the living room, Shogo, Bob, Wentzle, and some others were passing around a bong as the clock struck 11:30. Jezebel stumbled out of the bedroom and stepped outside onto the stair landing, staggering slightly with a beer clutched in one hand. Below her appeared Bret, riding Skip's bike in his pizza-delivery uniform, a polyester polo very unlike him, and a pair of black work pants. He wore his combat boots underneath, and his hair was styled into a freshly-cut, six-inch tall mohawk, half the size of the original; when down, it was still relatively-long, long enough for Jez to run her fingers through. She led him inside and into the kitchen, intending to get him some of the leftover Mexican food Jay's mom had made.

She was hanging all over him, something that made Jay feel a pang of jealousy he noticed as the pair reappeared from the kitchen. Bret sat down in an empty folding chair, and Jezebel attempted to do the same, but tripped on her way over and fell, sprawling, essentially onto her face. "Oh, shit!" She yelled as she went down.

"Hey, you okay lady?" Asked Tony, who was also sitting on the floor next to the couch, pushing some hair back from Jez's face as she sat up and decided to remain on the spot, sitting at her boyfriend's feet. When she nodded, he remarked, "that stuff hittin' ya a little too hard, huh."

She glanced around the room and noticed a bunch of people now looking at her. "I'm fine, y'all. Let's party!" She shouted, tossing her hair back animatedly, grabbing a half-full beer bottle from the coffee table and swigging it down without bothering to figure out to whom it might've belonged.

"Hey, she stole my beer…" Bob trailed mournfully, heading for the kitchen.

"Jez, you eaten yet tonight?" Bret nudged, his vision preoccupied with the taco in his hands, from which he was picking chunks of green pepper. No response. He looked away from his food and down at Jezebel, who'd fallen asleep on the floor. He sighed and finished his food slowly, savouring every bite.

"Dude, you didn't even get a chance to party… you need help gettin' her home?" Stacy asked, ready to leave himself. A considerable amount of time had elapsed and it was now approximately 1:07 AM, and he stupidly had a 7 AM shift scheduled at the restaurant. He hoped to god he could quit soon and live off his skate money.

Bret looked at his girlfriend's essentially unconscious body, then back at Stacy. He thought of his bike, well, Skip's bike, underneath the stairs. "Guess so," he answered. Jay watched silently as the party of three walked out the door, Bret carrying Jezebel with Stacy trailing behind them, pulling his car keys from his pocket.

He wanted that; he wanted to be the one taking her home from someone else's house, to their own room somewhere.


End file.
